


when the sun sets (and the moon has just begun to rise)

by fallingfireflies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: @ you p.jackson, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Getting Together, Harry Potter in Middle-Earth, M/M, Mild Language, Slow Burn, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, because the movies did him an injustice, well no one with names at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingfireflies/pseuds/fallingfireflies
Summary: The one grateful thought that he threw to the sky was that he was not surrounded by trees. Truly, Harry was used to waking up in enchanted and lonesome forests and while he could surely survive in one again, the wide-open, grassy plain was a sight for sore eyes.The untamed magic and general feel of a land unknown to him were far outweighing any relief he could find, however.Because of course Harry Potter, the boy who had never stuck between the lines of “physics” and “magic,” would again defy the rules and end up very, very far from Hogwarts – the place where he should have been at the moment. Appearing in a world with nothing but the clothes on his back and the wand in his holster for protection was very unfortunate indeed, and it was only the mind-numbing shock Harry was in at the current moment that saved the grass in a small radius from him from an explosive destruction.“What,” he said, “is this.”OR.The one where Harry finds himself in Middle-Earth and goes with Bilbo on his quest, making attachments and saving a few lives along the way. But don't be fooled: Fawkes is the real hero of this story. This is basically an "EVERYTHING IS BETTER WITH FAWKES" story. I'm a big fan of his.





	1. The Prologue: I. - X.

**Author's Note:**

> A'right listen. The day was the Nineteenth of July and Cole was rereading The Hobbit: a childhood favorite of hers that she hadn't read in a while. Suddenly, she came to the realization that Peter Jackson treated Thranduil like SHIT and he deserved BETTER. So she was like, "holy shit. /i/ can do better." And she pulled out her laptop and her book and pulled up a few Wikipedia articles and began to write. "it'll only be like, 12 thousand words," she said. "it'll be a oneshot. 12 to 15 thousand, at the most."  
> Eleven days and 54 thousand words later, she had a story.  
> So here I am. I'm treating Thranduil better because he's a poor, lost Wood-elf. I tried not to overpower Harry. I gave him connections back to his old family, so you can't get mad at me for making him abandoned. I tried hard not to make miscommunication a plot-point because that's lazy. And I gave Fawkes the full respect he deserves.  
> Finally, please know that this was originally going to stretch through The Hobbit and all of the LotR, but once I looked at the word count and saw the double-digit thousands and hadn't even passed the prologue, I knew I would not be able to do that without making it 150,000 words at least. And I'm not for that.  
> Disclaimer: this entire story was made as an excuse to write pretty words about the stars, so prepare yourselves.
> 
> To my dear Kiley: fuck off.

I.

The one grateful thought that he threw to the sky was that he was not surrounded by trees. Truly, Harry was used to waking up in enchanted and lonesome forests and while he could surely survive in one again, the wide-open, grassy plain was a sight for sore eyes.

The untamed magic and general feel of a land unknown to him were far outweighing any relief he could find, however.

Because of course Harry Potter, the boy who had never stuck between the lines of “physics” and “magic,” would again defy the rules and end up very, very far from Hogwarts – the place where he should have been at the moment. Appearing in a world with nothing but the clothes on his back and the wand in his holster for protection was very unfortunate indeed, and it was only the mind-numbing shock Harry was in at the current moment that saved the grass in a small radius from him from an explosive destruction.

“What,” he said, “is this.”

Hermione would surely have a plan already thought up, as she so often did when they were on the hunt, and Ron would be ready with jokes or complaints about “caught in a mess, again!” all in good jest, of course, if only they were here. But the stark truth was that Harry saw no one around him and could hear nary a sound for miles.

“Well done Potter, really. Some of your best work by far.”

Of course, this statement only made him think of Malfoy - not his preferred thinking subject - and so he focused instead on the fact that he was _in a different world_.

His strange travel here already left him on his knees so he bent over at the waist and touched his head to the ground. Why, why, why, _why_ had this happened to him? What had he done to deserve a total removal from his life, his friends, and his family? Why was he not allowed peace and happiness? The tension in his limbs built and a frown on his face grew until it was an open-mouthed scowl when at last he let out a desperate scream and everything built up was released at once. His magic flared outwards in a wide circle and the grass around him scorched and was sent flying in the air. When he opened his eyes, he was silent.

Death surrounded him, as it always had.

II.

He tried the obvious ways to get home, like attempted apparition to Gimmauld Place or accio-ing his broom, but there was no hope for either: from the first, he was built up with the magic to transport but with no such place to apparate to he was then popped as if a rubber balloon; from the second, he waited close to ten minutes but the firebolt never arrived.

They were valiant tries, this was true, but he had never held any real hope that they would work, as even he could tell he was too far for such normal methods of transportation. But while Harry might not have been a Hufflepuff he had the dedication enough to pass for one. He figured elderly magical beings or one of the large tombs Hermione so dearly adored would be the way to go. But they would not just appear to him, so he climbed to his feet and began his walk.

He had no real direction to be moving in, so he picked the way the wind was blowing and stuck with it. The only immediate problems were no food or water, though shelter would become more important as the high sun found the horizon. He was not ill, nor terribly hungry, and there was no predator that he could see; therefore, it was a quite leisurely walk that he took and was pressed faster only after several hours must have gone by.

He was wearing his good shoes, meaning the dragonhide boots he’d bought many months before, but they were not meant for so much walking on such uneven ground. For when he had passed along the flat plains, he reached small hills that were steadily becoming larger and jagged and he could no longer walk between them. It was no mountain range (which was a relief, since his shirt, trousers, light underarmor, and old black cloak were not enough to keep out the biting air of mountain peaks) and in addition he could not find any mountains as far as he could see until the earth bent away from him. However, in the distance where he was headed there was a great bunch of trees. Harry thought back to his only grateful thought and cursed himself for jinxing his luck as always.

“You’ve already spent enough time in forests, what is a little more for the purpose of food?”

So he increased his pace and made it to the trees in record time, and it was there that he was swallowed by branches and seen by another.

III.

There were bushes far back, beyond the tree line, but Harry was hesitant to trust the berries that grew there. He had known many poisonous berries back on Earth and did not wish to die from some before he could make it home. He took some, just in case he came to the threat of starvation anyway, and tucked them in the largest leaf he could find - if he had more than a school’s education in transfiguration, he could have turned that leaf into a bag. As it was, he tucked the leaf into a pocket and dealt with it.

His second hope was catching some meat to eat, but he had neither materials for making a fire to cook it with nor a reliable weapon for capture. His wand could be used for a cutting hex, that was true, but it would be messy and risk only harming the animal and putting it through pain. So meat would have to wait.

In front of him, Harry thought he could see a fruit tree. A little tall, but not more than he could climb. He cleared the trees that stood between them and then gazed at the green apples that he thought he could see on the higher branches.

His mind flashed back to Aunt Marge and her awful dog as he scaled the tree. It was very large, as were all the others, but the fruits were not as high as he first imagined. On the inside of the tree, there was much more than originally could be seen. He sat on a branch and snapped one apple from its stem.

It was green and apple-shaped, like he’d thought, but the texture was much bumpier than it should have been. Like an avocado skin on an apple. Harry brought it close to his mouth but sniffed it instead of biting.

“It’s quite safe to eat, I assure you.”

Harry dropped the fruit and wobbled precariously on the branch but he succeeded in where it was important: his wand was out and directed at the owner of the voice.

“Who are you?” Harry demanded.

The old man who was there walked to the dropped fruit (directly below Harry and therefore at an advantage, as Harry could not aim through a tree branch) and picked it up.

“Quite a good thing the peel is so thick, I’ve always said. I knew it would come in handy for someone someday. The tender fruit inside is not damaged at all! You can tell from tapping it, you know. Tap, tap, tap - no noise difference whatsoever.”

The man must have been mad, thought Harry. The babbling continued even as branches were switched and a better vantage point was gained within the tree. His wand arm never quivered from its directed path.

“The berries in your pocket, however: most harmful! You were smart indeed not to eat those, unless of course you were saving them for a different purpose. I’ve heard a great number of reports saying that poisoning your prey with rumun berries gives the meat a nasty flavor. But, ah! What would they know?”

The man was tall, and old, and dressed most fully in grey. Grey clothes with a long grey beard, white hair, and a blue pointed hat on top. It was unmistakable that he looked like a wizard. He would have looked like Dumbledore, if only his robes were brightly colored and Harry could see his face.

“Who are you?” Harry asked again, voice more dangerous.

“Who am I? I dare think the question should lean more _what am I_ and _am I a friend_ , wouldn’t you agree?”

“No,” Harry cut him off before the rambling could begin again.

“Well, very well then, I suppose not. I am Gandalf! Gandalf the Grey!”

“Why ‘the Grey?’” Let it not be forgotten that Harry was a marauder’s son and godson and student.

“‘Why the-’” Gandalf spluttered in response. He looked down to his own clothes then back to Harry. “It might be the beard, I think,” was the poor attempt to regain his voice after such a surprising question.

“Ah, and I thought it was your personality.”

“What is that you’re holding?” The man asked instead of following up the conversation.

“A weapon.”

“Is it meant to be a threat?”

“Depends. Do you feel threatened, Mr. the Grey?”

“Not in the slightest, young man,” Gandalf said heartily and ended with a smile and loud laugh. Not sure if he was being laughed at, Harry adjusted his grip and said nothing. “Well then, this is enough of that conversation, don’t you quite agree? Come on down here and we can feast together! I have bread and meat, well enough to share.”

“I’m fine where I am, thank you.”

It took another few minutes in this style and the pulling of one of the fruits and subsequent eating of it until Gandalf made any progress with Harry. There was no way for Harry to know if Gandalf had some sort of immunity to the fruit and was just trying to get Harry to eat it, but there would be no real reason to poison a man out here (unless cannibals were a bigger threat than imagined), so Harry took a leap.

He was also convinced to come down when the day stretched into night and it grew cold. Gandalf built up a fire and had come forth entirely about who he was (one of the five wizards, called Istari or Ithryn in the two most-used Elvish languages) and what he was doing (on his way to visit a friend in the Shire). Harry had not felt any ill tidings by his magic towards the man so he eventually had to pull back his guard. He jumped down with three more of the fruits and his wand out but resting. He emptied his pockets and sat down on the other side of the fire.

“Glad to see you join me, young master! Now then, every traveler has a story behind the journey. What brought you here?”

“A lot of walking,” Harry circled the question. It wasn’t the greatest idea to admit being tossed into this world from a different one earlier that day.

“Are you lost?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“But you are not found?” It was shaped as a question.

“In what sense?”

“Hmm,” Gandalf pulled out a pipe and watched Harry carefully as he filled and lit it. “What would your name be?” What was the harm?

“Harry.”

“Har-ry,” he sounded it out. “That sounds more like a dwarf’s name than a Man’s.” Dwarves? “But there’s no mistaking that you’re from a Town of Men. Which one would that be?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The town. Which town would you be from? Lake-town is too far and I would expect you to have a horse if from Rohan, or at least a companion.”

“I’m not from any of these towns you speak of.”

“Oh?” His smoke rings faltered. “Where are you from, then?”

“England, Surrey to be exact. Or actually, I may originally be from Wales; I believe that is where Godric’s Hollow is. But I spent quite a bit of time in Scotland, so I really considered that my home for a good seven years.” It was fun, stumping this wizard so obviously.

“What on all of Middle-Earth do you mean?” He asked faintly, and it was there that Harry found the answer to an unvoiced question. He was somewhere called Middle-Earth and it was very much similar to his home but not nearly similar enough. He did not care if he was on Low-Earth or Almost-Earth if it did not hold his friends and family.

Harry’s mind went back to another thought he had since coming here. There was no clear idea where the nearest library would be, but there was an elderly wizard in front of him that seemed to know his way around.

“Not on Middle-Earth, is kind of the point.”

“A traveler from a distant world?” Gandalf wondered, catching on right away. Age had certainly not deteriorated any part of his brain: that much could be seem. “But the Valar gave no warning.”

“Yes, well. I can’t really be held responsible for that.”

“You do not know of the Valar?” Gandalf guessed.

“That would be correct.”

“Or of dwarves?”

“Nope.”

“The elves and wizards?”

“Nuh-uh,” he could keep that point a secret for now.

“Hobbits?”

“What-its?”

“Hobbits!” Of all the names that Gandalf had thrown, ‘hobbits’ was the only one that was lost on Harry. The others were sure to be similar to his own world and he could practically hear the capital V in ‘Valar’ that assured it to be an important group of people. “Short little creatures that live in homely hills and are quite content with good food and frequent meals. They give away presents on their birthdays, you know. I am on my way to visiting one now, as it is! Miss Berylla Boffin over in Hobbiton, the Shire!”

“Oh,” Harry nodded.

“Of course, it is no fun making such a journey alone. I would be quite pleased to find a travelling partner unafraid of these areas.” Gandalf peered at him under thick eyebrows.

“I don’t even know these areas, Mr. the Grey,” Harry reminded him, caught suddenly in a situation where he believed his worth was being overestimated.

“Well, a fine wizard such as I could not leave you here to suffer! I insist you join me on my journey to the Mistress Boffin from where you can make your own path.”

“O-kay?” Harry hesitated. Was that a choice or not?

“Wonderful! I will wake you for breakfast.” And then he spread out his sleeping roll and slept.

Of course Harry, a master of faking sleep in his own right (thank you, frequent stays in the infirmary), was sure it was not a real slumber; however, he took the chance for what it was and sat up for a great deal longer, pondering where he stood now and what to do. He peeled the first fruit carefully, copying what he saw from Gandalf, and discarded the peel next to the dying fire. He bit into the fruit, finding it had a unique taste somewhere between pineapple and a melon of a sort, and wiped the dripping juice from his chin.

No one was going to look for him. So soon after the final battle they would all expect him to be holed up in Grimmauld Place and mourning the lost. Those that would have bothered were no longer in any position to do so.

The thought brought a wave of sadness that he had tried to stuff away days ago, initially. He was getting better at ignoring his feelings every day. But the fact was that he was alone in this world and emotions would get him nowhere and neither would his old companions, at least not for another few weeks. Did time even pass the same way here as there?

Harry swallowed his fruit and wiped his hand on the grass. He would need to find his own way home. And the solution rested somewhere in this sleeping wizard’s knowledge, be that world-hopping or library locations.

IV.

True to his word, Gandalf woke him a little past sunrise with the offering of bread and jam. Harry was already awake, instincts having woken him at the first sound of movement, but it was another point for the trustworthiness of the tall wizard, as well as waking up alive at all. They chatted through breakfast, beginning with hobbits’ preference for six meals a day and changing to a dwarrow’s love of gems by the time they were packed up and moving. Harry had nothing to pack but offered to hold one of Gandalf’s many bags.

“What about the elves?” Harry asked freely when conversation lulled. “What are they like?”

“Ah, that would depend more closely on the group you mean. Elves are nature-lovers and quite vain, wanting comfort and beauty to surround them. They are long-lived and enjoy a merry feast as well as any other. Passionate towards music, quite wise, beautiful in every sense, and fierce with a bow or spear.”

“Not at all like the elves in my experience,” Harry noted. “I supposed they’re tall, too.”

“Your experience?”

“Yeah, house elves. The only kind we’ve got, I think. Little things, treated like servants, not the greatest grammar-wise,” _but Hermione would know more about that - something about not enough attention to properly teaching them or the likes_.

“Ah. No.” And then Gandalf went on to explain more about the race of elves, how the more noble are taller (far passing the normal height of men back on Earth) but the weaker the noble lineage, the closer to the standard five to six feet they are. Gandalf himself was not as tall as Harry originally thought, though his presence makes him appear a foot taller than he is. Harry was at least a good four inches taller than him, as it was, and it felt good that his nutritionally-stunted growth was still able to best this important wizard.

There was a great diversity in Men too, both in appearance and general behavior. Harry could not possibly repeat all that was told to him as it was too much and was delivered too greatly at one time. Not to mention the names – none being as simple as _Fred_ or _Susan_. Still, Harry learned much and with time would be able to retain it all. In return, he told of his Man-led world with small populations of witches and wizards, house elves, goblins, and more. He did not clarify which of the populations he belonged to.

That in turn became a conversation about evil beings on Middle-Earth such as cave trolls, goblins (“ _or Orcs, depending on the language_ ”), and Wargs. Harry debated as much as he could and they compared the worlds all day, swapping general histories until they had walked the day by and it was time to focus on finding shelter once again.

V.

They grew close in that short journey. By the end of the second morning they had finished their trek through the Old Forest and by that night they were in the Shire. They had to rest one more night to reach Hobbiton, but it was not any trouble for them, as they still had much to speak about. Harry distracted himself well enough from his problem at hand until that last night when he realized that they could be parting the next day.

“Say, Gandalf,” he began, holding the “Mr. the Grey” jokes for matters less serious, “You wouldn’t happen to know of any way I could get back to my world?”

“Eager to get home?” He asked lightly.

“Quite. My friends are there, after all, and it’s not natural to take a step and be in a different world than you were a second ago.”

“Yes, your friends. You haven’t mentioned any friends at all, as it is.” _That was on purpose_ , Harry thought, keeping his mind away from their names and faces even now.

“Well, neither have you! From what I can tell, you’re a lonely old wizard that walks too much.”

“I have mentioned Radagast and Saruman-”

“They are more coworkers, by definition.”

“And Elrond and Galadriel-”

“Part of your council, weren’t they?”

“Beorn and Thranduil-”

“You have certainly not mentioned them.”

“And Berylla, of course!”

“The hobbit.” There was a moment of silence. “You still have not helped me.”

“World travelers are not a common occurrence, if you can tell. I have never met one and I believe neither has any other. Lord Elrond may know more, or hold more answers in his great library.” That was promising. “But alas, most is written in various elvish dialects and you could not read it.” Never mind.

“Would he be willing to speak with me about it?”

“He would be most intrigued to meet you!”

“Well, great. I don’t suppose you have a map to spare?”

“Is that what you expect from me?” Gandalf laughed, “To hand you a map and set you off to roam? No, no, that won’t do. I will accompany you to Rivendell and we can speak to Lord Elrond together.”

Harry grimaced and took a careful look around him. In the distance he could see the little hills and doors that made up hobbit holes and far behind him were a bridge and the forest. “How long would that take?”

“The journey to Rivendell? Three weeks I would say – at the least!”

No, that wouldn’t do. That was too long. Harry needed to get home, needed to get back to where people were waiting for him, to where he had expectations and duties, and to where he has been too long from already. But what could he do? As far as he could tell, it was only an elaborate spell or ritual that would take him back, and none of the wizards’ magic worked in such a way, from what he was told. He wanted to be back immediately, he didn’t want to miss any funerals or memorials, and he couldn’t wait three weeks or he’d be much too late!

“Dobby!” Harry called, struck suddenly with a thought. “Dobby! Winky! Fawkes!”

Gandalf was looking at him as if he was quite mad, questioning his abilities to cope with the information, when with a flash of light, a brilliant bird appeared.

“Fawkes!” Harry could have cried. He might’ve, actually, but it escaped notice. “Oh, I’m so glad you could hear me.” They shared a strange hug, where Harry felt he was squishing the phoenix and wings were awkwardly in the way, but then Fawkes settled on his shoulder. “Fawkes, I’m very far from home. Do you think you could take me back?”

Harry’s hopes were built up, his ears straining to hear a confirmation, when a regretful trill dashed everything away.

“Why not?” Harry choked out even though there was no way for the phoenix to answer. It was to his surprise then when he made eye contact with Fawkes and got a vague feeling in his mind. “Is it because it’s a completely different world? Too far?” Just like apparition.

Fawkes nodded, as well as a bird could, and Harry was crushed.

“Do you think you could bring them a letter then, for me? Please, just a small letter?” And there was the confirmation Harry so desired to hear. “Oh, thank you! We’ll be to the house soon, where there’s sure to be paper and ink - isn’t that right, Gandalf?”

The wizard in question stood a few feet away, eyes wide open and staff held loosely in hand as he stared unblinking at the fiery bird. “Yes,” he managed, and Harry led the walk as best as he could, suddenly much more eager than he had been before.

“Harry, if I may, what kind of bird is that?”

“This is a phoenix, Mister Gandalf, sir! Fawkes was a friend of my old headmaster’s but he’s a free bird now. He’s very loyal, and it’s one of his tail feathers in my wand core.”

“Interesting capabilities he has,” oh, he had no idea. “Wand, you say?”

“Who to write the letter to?” Harry mused for most of the rest of the quick walk, ignoring or simply not hearing the other questions being thrown at him. He couldn’t send one to Hermione or Ron (the idea made his heart clench) and the list of trustworthy friends decreases from there. Neville or Luna would be fine, but this wasn’t something they could help him with, and Ginny was very obviously out of the question. It was Professor McGonagall that he was on his way to meet that day, and she was the one with the most knowledge and access to records, so she would likely be the best bet. “Could you get the letter to Professor McGonagall, Fawkes?” He asked when his mind was made up and there was a positive trill. “Thank you!”

“Harry, I am quite confused,” Gandalf said loudly, and Harry realized then that he had missed questions.

“Um,” Harry reached a hand up and stroked the phoenix to sooth himself, “Okay, go ahead.”

“What exactly is a wand?”

“Like a staff, but smaller.”

“For wizards?”

“And witches.”

“So you are a wizard?”

“Yeah, that’d make sense.”

“And this is your friend?”

“Yes. He’s helped me out of some tight spaces.”

“You can understand him?”

“Not really. Dumbledore could, but I’m much worse at it.”

“And he is going to help you get out?” This question seemed to worry Gandalf, but for what reason Harry could not discern.

“Not directly, but hopefully he can get a letter to someone who can.”

“Forgive me, Harry, but have you considered yet that you could be here for a reason?”

“What reason could I possibly have to be here instead of home?” Harry asked, honestly surprised and confused. “I have just finished my big duty at home, that is true, but Hogwarts has to be rebuilt, and I need to make sure the medical forms are signed, and there is so much aftermath that I have to be a part of. Not to mention the uncaptured Death Eaters!”

“The Valar would not mistakenly bring you here. There must be a bigger reason behind it.”

At that point, Harry got angry.

“I’m not available for a summoning to fix anyone else’s problems, Gandalf,” he glared. “This is not my world and I refuse to get caught up in it.”

“I don’t mean problems; I mean peace.”

“There is no such thing; where I am, I will always attract trouble. In my world, it is expected. Here, it is a nuisance. Thank you very much, Mr. the Grey, but I believe I will be making my way home as soon as possible.”

VI.

The land of Hobbiton, the Shire, was full of roaming hobbits.

Ah, hobbits.

Cute little things (and really, they were all under four feet in height) but very proper. Most in the town looked to him with suspicion, but not Berylla Boffin. Or, since Gandalf had last visited, Berylla _Baggins_ with an incoming Baby Baggins.

She, along with the rest of her kind, had large feet and a short stature. But Harry was almost sure that such a small body couldn’t possibly fit the large heart she had. She welcomed Gandalf with a warm hug and Harry with equal enthusiasm and the young man found himself reminded of Mrs. Weasley. It was an interesting thought, filling his heart with both honeyed tea and daggers, and he shoved it away soon after.

“Oh, come in, come in! Good evening, Gandalf, it’s been so long! And who is this? And this!” She examined the third companion with delight.

“Good evening, Berylla! This is Harry, a current travelling partner of mine.”

“How do you do?” Harry asked quietly when she looked over at him. “This is Fawkes, a phoenix.”

“What a singularly spectacular bird! Please, wipe your feet on the mat there. We were just about to sit for second breakfast! What will your phoenix eat?” She asked the question to Harry, but watched Fawkes carefully and nodded not a second later. “Quite right, we can do that!” And she bustled off. They placed down their bags and followed the nice Berylla to the dining room, where Balbo Baggins already sat.

“Balbo, dear, Gandalf came to visit! I told you he would sometimes.” The male hobbit nodded absently, too busy with serving himself to really pay attention. When at last he looked up, he was quite surprised to see two strangers!

“How do you do?” Harry said again. “My name is Harry.”

“Hello,” he welcomed, watching him with the same suspicion as everyone else in Hobbiton.

The second breakfast was a quiet affair. Berylla seemed curious about him and Fawkes but didn’t ask any questions, for which Harry was grateful. After that, Gandalf asked for a room where Harry could rest and then ushered him there. Harry figured as soon as he was gone they would speak of him and Harry smiled a little to himself for the secrets he was smart enough to keep. He cast a light eavesdropping charm that Fred and George had once taught him, way back in what must have been fourth or fifth year, and listened in.

“What is he, Gandalf?”

“I am not quite sure, Berylla my dear. I have only just met him, and I of course assumed him to be a Man.”

“But then?”

“But then he showed me the most peculiar thing: magic!”

“So he is like you?”

“Oh no, see that’s the issue, he isn’t at all! He is shorter than most of the Istari – except for Radagast, of course, and I confess to just missing his height – and he uses a small stick of wood, not a staff. And he doesn’t know of the Valar, so he mustn’t be an Istar since they did not send him.”

“Did you ask him what he was?”

“He said he was a wizard. But he is unlike any wizard I know… He also says he’s from a different world.”

“Oh, my! Do you believe him?”

“Yes, I find myself believing young Harry. Perhaps the Valar sent him here, but simply didn’t tell him so.”

And with that the conversation changed paths and Harry broke the spell. He lay down in the small bed and thought deeply for many hours. He did not want to be brought here for the convenience of a population he did not know. He was not there for sacrifice. But if what Gandalf said was true – that he would be allowed time to rest and regroup after such a horrific final battle – then he almost found himself willing to stay. So much had happened, so much more than anyone expected, and the losses hit him harder than his heart desired.

But Harry meant it when he said that he was incapable of staying out of trouble. And he hadn’t even mentioned his “saving people thing” or penchant for “sheer dumb luck.” There was so much that he didn’t dare share and the last thing Harry wanted was to inadvertently put everyone in danger.

This was a different world entirely. Money was likely different here. Maps could be made strangely or languages could be spread throughout or Harry could stand out much worse than he ever has. Being a Wonder-Kid in a small secluded community seemed a nicer alternative to being the only one of a kind in a wide world. Gandalf said he was very old and yet he had never met someone from a different land. Harry did not want that reputation.

Everything has suddenly become much more confusing.

Harry stayed in bed for a good while until he sat up and acquired paper and ink from Balbo Baggins, at which point he holed himself back up into the little bedroom.

“Professor McGonagall, comma,” he said aloud. “Should I add a ‘Dear’ at the front?”

Writing the letter in such a way not to raise panic but also get across that “ _please, you must help me home_ ” was not as easy a feat as imagined. By the end, Harry had something like this:

“Professor McGonagall, I fear I have found myself in trouble once again. I am in a different world this time – a land called Middle-Earth in a world called Arda – with no easy way to come back. Fawkes comes when I call but no one else seems to hear. Magic is wild here and civilization is not as advanced. I have not tried to make sure my abilities are fully intact yet but I will be sure to do so when a chance comes my way. As it is, this is my third day here and the nearest library is a three-week journey that I will embark upon tomorrow. I apologize for missing our appointment and beg you will forgive me, but we must postpone a rescheduling until it is sure I can make it. With full respect and regard, Harry J. Potter.”

Harry tied the note, gave it to Fawkes, and then wished for the best as he flamed out of sight.

VII.

Harry and Gandalf left the Bagginses the next morning while it was still early but past their first meal. They had spoken with the hobbits for many hours the night before, after Harry emerged from his hideaway, and Harry was delighted by the little creatures. They were so very kind, and funny and quirky, and they amused him to no end. If he was stuck here for a while, Harry decided then, he could be back to visit.

Conversation resumed when they had hit the road again (this time with an additional bag that Harry kept strapped across his own back thanks to the dear thoughts of Berylla; it was charmed weightless by himself and had an internal expansion charm that he hid from Gandalf at least for the time being) and all previous squabbles were forgotten. An in-depth explanation of the magical government took up most of the first afternoon which was successful in keeping the absence of a return letter from his mind.

The topic of magic was most common then, as it had been mostly brushed over originally when Gandalf thought Harry had none. Harry gave visual examples of what he could do and was relieved when nothing failed him and even seemed easier than usual. Harry thought to the destruction of Voldemort and the existence of the Elder Wand but his core agreed with his head that neither of those things he would have to worry about here.

The talk turned eventually to a story for when others would ask more in-depth on what Harry was or where he had originated from.

“People will be wary if there is suddenly a new creature – and only one of it!” Gandalf told him. Harry didn’t think it mattered much, figured not enough people would ask in the next three weeks, but did not argue with a wizard on a decided path. They could not often be swayed.

“So what do you suggest?”

“We will tell them you are a new Istar, I think; the sixth one. Saruman will of course need to know the truth, and I will tell Radagast when we see him, or perhaps I shall send a bird his way, and the two Blues will find out through Saruman, no doubt, but we will be the only six to know the truth.”

“And Berylla Baggins,” Harry challenged.

“Of course. Ah, and you will have to speak with Lord Elrond about it, and perhaps Lady Galadriel as well, so that makes nine? Correct?”

“Gandalf,” Harry started, “I don’t mean to be rude, but isn’t this an unnecessary procedure? Do not worry them with a problem, as I will be gone soon. We can just tell any who asks that I am a travelling man and Lord Elrond and you can be the only ones to know the truth. There is no use in making such complex plans.”

“No, no, no. Men have no magic; it would be an obvious lie.”

“They don’t need to know I have magic. I am quite capable of keeping that to myself. Besides, you said that the Istari have the physical forms of old men; I hardly match that image.”

This argument continued for a while. Harry saw no reason to make up a lie when a three week trek over open land would make it seldom used. It’s not that he didn’t fully believe that a prepared story was a good idea - of course he believed that! One doesn’t go on the run for a year and not learn how important it is to be able to fool the inquisitive. Still, a lie making him out to be more important than he was seemed foolish: a fact he made clear to Gandalf.

“People will be curious if we tell them that. They will expect more. They will expect me to _stay_. There is so much that can go wrong and I am not in the business of putting myself more at risk when no one comes out any the better for it.”

And Harry would not have survived for as long as he had if not for his ability to win an argument, so with a final disappointed sigh, Gandalf stopped insisting.

“What do you suppose we tell them then?”

“I have already told you. I am a man from a town that is travelling. Perhaps I am looking for something, or I have family elsewhere. That one is true enough, I suppose.”

“And the phoenix? What about when they ask after him?”

“I’m sure there are plenty of birds around here. Fawkes is just one of them.”

“One that can disappear and appear somewhere else?”

“Yes, is that strange?”

Of course it was, and Gandalf said so, but Harry’s mind was made up and they continued their journey in a mixture of silence and unimportant comments. Harry’s thoughts wandered again with a focus on a return letter and he only fully removed himself from such thoughts when clouds began to gather and the duo looked for cover from oncoming rain. There were hobbit-made structures by the side of the dirt road they were on specifically for this purpose and they made their way to the closest one where Gandalf exchanged his hood for a more durable one and replaced his hat on his head. For Harry’s part, he watched the Istar do that and then decided he had more questions.

“Don’t you have any magical protection from rain?” They sat on the ground and pulled out small refreshments. Harry could tell now that though the clouds had blocked the sun, it was setting already. It had to be approaching what would have been six or seven o’clock, if only they were on Earth.

“Rain is a natural phenomenon. What reason do I have to protect myself against it?”

“So is death,” Harry shrugged, “and yet defensive magic is a thing.”

Well that stumped Gandalf, so Harry cast a water-repelling charm on himself and his clothes and they got up and continued in the light rainfall. It took what to Harry seemed an embarrassingly long time until Gandalf noticed his companion was still dry as he ever had been and he asked in surprise what the cause of it was.

“Water-repelling charms,” he responded. “Naturally.”

Harry took pity and cast some on Gandalf, though he was positive the Istar could have done something similar if he wanted to, and they walked quite a bit further in the rain that failed to dampen their spirits.

They made camp that night and Harry spent a good deal of time and energy trying various spells to turn leaves into blankets but nothing worked. There was _mutat stratum_ but it was meant to be performed on a spare scrap of cloth, so there was no change there. There was also _folium concelo_ but that was meant to turn a leaf into an umbrella (which it did, not that it was what he needed so it had to be changed back) so it was a fruitless endeavor. Gandalf watched with interest but Harry paid him no mind. They were still in hobbit territory so they slept easily and without a watch and they woke early the next morning, Harry first for a change.

They walked tirelessly the next day, and the one after that too, retracing the steps they first took back to the Old Forest (which apparently is usually very menacing but is respectful towards magic-users) though they followed the road and went around it this time and through to the Barrow Downs, where Harry first appeared. The fourth day dawned clear and with the arrival of the firebird.

“Fawkes!” Harry exclaimed sleepily, returning his wand to his holster after it was pulled out so suddenly. “She replied?” He took the letter, not daring to feel hopeful, but felt disappointed and confused by the end of it anyway. Gandalf did not ask but he was watching from the corner of his eye as he rolled up his bed and Harry decided to oblige him. “She wrote something terribly confusing, it certainly doesn’t make sense to me with the timeline - oh, I’ll just read it all. She said this:

“Mr. Potter, it is quite the conundrum you are facing, though I have ceased feeling any surprise at all in the situations that seem to find you. Indeed, it seems very improbable – though I know you would not joke of something at such a time – as it is not a common occurrence and it has no obvious reasoning. I have looked through some of Albus’ personal textbooks quickly, but one thing you mentioned rested too heavily on my mind and I needed to send this letter to clear it up. You say you have been there for three days, but you have only just missed our appointment by an hour at the most and I happen to know that Mr. Longbottom saw you just yesterday. Despite this, I will try to help you as best I can to get you home soon and safely. Regards, Minerva McGonagall.

“That doesn’t make sense. It has been six days now and she wouldn’t wait to send this for a full three days after if she wants to help me home ‘soon.’”

Both were quiet as they did their morning things and resumed their walking until at last Gandalf spoke up.

“It seems we are dealing with a time difference.”

“And that means?”

“You sent the letter to your friend after three days had passed for you but she said you had only been an hour late.”

“I was there early, so it must have been about an hour and a half since I had disappeared.”

“And then she spent some time researching before writing the letter to you, which you got another three days later.”

“So you mean to tell me that our time is passing differently?” Harry’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not good! If it takes her just one day to find a solution, a whole month may have passed here!” Harry began to do math in his head, putting his primary school-level learning to work. Twenty-four hours, where an hour and a half equaled three days, which would make one hour equal two days… “Forty-eight days!” He cried when he figured it out. “That’s even worse!”

“And I’m sure researching a problem as strange as this one would take even longer,” Gandalf nodded sagely, and Harry dropped down and buried his face in his hands.

He stayed like that for a long time. Nothing Gandalf said roused him and it finally took Fawkes coming down and singing an uplifting song for him to even lift his head. Harry stroked the brilliant red and gold feathers and tried to determine how far along Fawkes was until his death and rebirth to distract his mind. Boy, would that alarm Gandalf.

Harry gathered control of his limbs soon enough and they walked again, Harry’s hands moving of their own accord into his bag to pull out the letter and fiddle with it nervously. Not even talk of dwarves managed to occupy his mind and that day went more slowly than any did in his memory. By dawn the next day Harry had come no closer to any thoughts making sense but he had enough sense to write a short letter on the paper that Balbo was kind enough to send him away with.

“Professor McGonagall,” it read, “It has been exactly one day since I have received your letter. I am trying to sort out the time difference between our worlds. Please respond with how long it was for you between sending and receiving this. Many thanks, Harry J. Potter.”

The letter he got back (by a weary-looking phoenix from such quick travel over such impossible distance) roughly an hour later confirms his thoughts.

“Mr. Potter, it has been hardly thirty minutes. Yrs, M. McGonagall.”

VIII.

When the shock wore off, Harry was almost glad of it. It would make finding a solution from his home much more difficult, but it made finding his own way home look better. He could spend the three weeks travelling to Rivendell and he wouldn’t miss any funerals at all.

Gandalf was visibly relieved when Harry began to ask questions again and didn’t look so glum and the topic of Rivendell came up frequently. Dwarves sounded very interesting but held no current relation to Harry as he would not be going to any of their mountains so he did not ask after them as much. And he had always been around humans of both the magical and muggle sort so he did not care as much about them. Elves, though… Elves were creatures that he had never met and they seemed quite unrealistic. Unending beauty and wisdom in immortal bodies? Too good to be true, clearly.

But despite that, they held his interest and he knew that proper manners would be important not to offend them once they got to Rivendell. Harry questioned Gandalf on what to say, proper honorifics, and how to phrase that he needed help with a top secret situation.

Beyond that, there was one more problem. Harry could not read the books in the elvish library and with all the time he would have that seemed like quite a waste.

“Do you know of any way to allow someone to speak a different language for a limited time?” Harry asked Gandalf, thinking of Hermione’s translation spell that he could not remember the incantation for.

“No, no. There is nothing like that.”

And it would be no help to be taught how to speak and understand Sindarin elvish as Gandalf could do for him in the two and a half weeks remaining when it would not help with reading when it came down to it. Harry was still taught greetings as part of the ‘help me be polite please’ request, but it would not serve both purposes.

In the end, it was a very tiresome three weeks for Harry. Fawkes was a constant companion when he wasn’t acting as a carrier owl and tried to cheer him up – something that Harry appreciated dearly and thanked Fawkes for repeatedly – but artificial happiness did not always work against a determination to be broody.

They had a fairly easy journey to Rivendell following the East-West Road as they in fact ran into no enemies at all (though the Wargs could be heard at night) but Gandalf explained that it was not an area much sought after. There were no vantage points and as it was, most races forgot hobbits existed entirely so there was no reason to go looking to attack them.

“If you were to go any further east,” Gandalf warned Harry, “You would find the Orcs that we so far have been able to avoid.” Trolls and Wargs are fond of forests, something that they have avoided fairly well on the road, and Orcs liked forests and mountains, the latter of which they didn’t cross at all. “Rivendell is a common center for activity, as there are no large woods surrounding it and therefore no Orcs.”

Well, that sounded great to Harry.

They arrived closer to four weeks later, as it was, and Harry was not too happy about it. By the end of the trip he was pressing Gandalf to go faster and was even willing to barter the spells he knew in exchange for continuing their journey into the fearsome night and earlier in the morning. By the time they got there, Gandalf’s bags were expanded and weightless and one of his waterskins had a refillable charm on it, connected to Gandalf’s magic so that it would keep going while he still did.

Professor McGonagall had been working tirelessly, a fact that Harry could have kissed her for, in the limited time she had compared to him. When Gandalf reported that Rivendell was just hours away, Harry wrote a letter to her requesting that she take a break from helping him and focus on something else (knowing that he was not in a dangerous position like the entire last seven years and knowing also that there was so much aftermath that, as headmistress, she could not put off for long).

Finally, after a great deal of stress and with dwindling food supplies, Harry caught his first glance at the great elven kingdom.

Of all of the words in the English language that Harry had been taught, not one of them was worthy of the view he was gifted with. Water flowed in various systems throughout the city and in falling streams and gorges that reflected the great blue sky upon the wooden and stone walls.

Gandalf described it as “The Last Homely House,” surely a reference to something that Harry was uneducated about, and the feeling received matched up with that quite well. It was a place of learning and a place of peace and Harry would have liked to stay there forever. They were welcomed at the border of the city by a trio of what could only be elves and he finally had to admit that such fantastic creatures truly existed.

“ _Mae govannen, Mithrandir_ ,” the center elf greeted and bowed his head. Gandalf responded in kind, saying ‘Elrond’ instead of ‘Mithrandir’ and when they looked to Harry, he bowed much lower than either of them.

“ _Mae govannen_ , Lord Elrond,” his voice shook, “How do you do?”

“And who would you be?” The regal elf asked, a kind smile acting as encouragement.

“Harry Potter, my lord; a traveler who requests aid.”

“He is a friend,” Gandalf announced assuredly, thought it was pointed more at the tall elf on the left than any other.

“Of course. Stand down, Glorfindel; we are all friends here.”

They walked through the town and into the center building and Harry was hard-pressed not to gape like an idiot at the beautiful architecture. He was introduced informally to the third elf, a female named Princess Arwen who was stunningly beautiful and had passion in her clever eyes, and he was able to ignore the fact that they all stood taller than him.

“What troubles you so, Master Potter?”

“Please, just Harry is fine.”

“Harry here is traveler, arriving from much further than most do.”

His green eyes looked around, awe fading when the worry crept up the back of his throat. What if they couldn’t help him? What if they refused? Glorfindel was dismissed and he took Arwen with him and Harry was invited to sit on a chair as they entered a round room.

“Thank you, Lord Elrond.”

“Where are you travelling from?”

He hesitated. “A different world, my lord. I come from a land called Earth, where elves don’t exist and magic is abundant.”

“You don’t say?” Elrond looked interested and leaned forward in his chair (that looked much more like a throne).

“It is true. Master Gandalf says that there has never been such a situation but I come to you in hopes that you know a way I can return home. I’m desperately needed there, you see, and the longer I’m away, the more I’m missing.”

“What can you tell me about your arrival here?”

“Here, as in on Middle-Earth?” Harry clarified and Elrond nodded once. “Well. I was walking to meet with my professor – we had important things to talk about concerning what to do following a… terrible event. I was not so far from her room – it would have only been another five minute walk – when suddenly I was on grass instead of the stone like before. In the middle of a step I seemed to have popped to another location entirely! I felt nothing as it happened, there were no physical side-effects other than my shock, and any method I would have at returning to my world or getting in contact with it has failed. All except for Fawkes.”

“Fawkes?”

“A phoenix, my lord. He has been flashing between my professor and me carrying letters for the four weeks I’ve been here. He is waiting outside of the city borders currently and will find me tonight when fewer eyes will track his flight.”

“I see. The animal is new to me but I can discern enough from your explanation to make sense of it all. So what do you hope to receive from Imladris?”

Gandalf warned him about the use of Imladris in place of Rivendell and Harry was glad now that he did.

“I would have liked to roam your library, if only I could read the texts.”

“We have a great collection there. There are books in every language spoken on Middle-Earth, nearly.”

“Yes, but as far as I know I can speak none but the current one. So instead I hoped you knew more of a situation similar to mine?”

They sat in silence for a long while. Gandalf did not seem bothered and drew out his pipe as usual. Elrond got up and left the room at one point, which raised Harry’s spirits, but he came back only with a tray of strange fruits that he offered to his hungry guests. Despite the wants of his stomach, Harry did not reach for the fruit and instead continued to watch Lord Elrond with desperation.

“This is new for me as well,” he said finally. Harry let out a breath and ignored the tightening of his throat.

“I considered it being the will of the Valar?” Gandalf offered from his corner but Elrond shook his head.

“They have never done something so individual without first telling one of us about it. You have heard nothing, I was not told, and I spoke with the Lady Galadriel only last week and she said nothing of a strange guest. If I had to make a guess, I would think that the Valar are just as surprised as Master Harry here that he arrived in our homeland.”

Harry did not know what he expected to feel from such news, but he did know that he felt none of it. Everything was difficult and stressful and he wished for a long sleep that would cure him of his problems entirely.

“So what now?” Harry asked Gandalf.

“Now you wait for your friend to help you, as friends so often do. In the meantime, Rivendell is a great place for learning!”

In that case, Hermione would have liked to be there much more than he did. But Harry could not deny the beauty of the grand public library. He visited somewhat often but the only books he could read were of the history of Middle-Earth and Arda and he bored of it quickly. Sindarin elvish he was able to learn bits and pieces of by listening carefully to conversations, but he could never put it together enough to speak a full sentence.

But the thing about Imladris, the kingdom of comfort and knowledge, was that it was strangely capable of making its inhabitants feel happier and freer than they otherwise would have. Two weeks passed before Harry realized it when suddenly a letter came from McGonagall.

“Mr. Potter, I thank you for the break but I find my mind still running with the situation you are in. I have found nothing in Albus’ generous collection of tombs to get you back and I hesitate now at where to look next. You have explained to me enough what happened when you arrived there and what the world is like, but tell me more of how you are doing. Is your companion kind to you? Have you reached your destination? It may be a great deal longer until we can get you back here, so do not distance yourself too far from anyone offering to be a friend. I understand you are still shaken from what happened to your dearest friends and those you are close to, but that does not mean you should shut yourself from others. Do not wait too long to respond, I understand it has been much longer for you and I worry at the long silence. Kind regards, Minerva McGonagall.”

Harry read the letter two, three, four times, and still did not know how he was meant to feel towards it. He did not wait to figure it out and instead summoned to him (as he was in his room already) his paper and ink.

“Professor McGonagall, I cannot thank you enough for all that you are doing for me. You mentioned my friends and I asked you now: how are they doing? I meant to sign the medical forms but was whisked away before I had the opportunity. Please, I must ask you one more favor if I can. Please try and get them the full medical attention they need. If you cannot do so by authority, send Fawkes with the forms and I will sign them here. If you do this for me, I will be in your debt.

“As for me, do not worry. I am, somewhat regrettably, doing nothing that puts my health at risk. It is boring, truthfully, just sitting around and wishing for an answer to appear to me; I fear that much more of this and I may need to take another journey just to keep my mind in shape. I was not meant for the idle life. Gandalf is kind to me and much more patient than I deserve, but I know it mustn’t last forever – I can tell he is getting annoyed by my unwavering desire to go home. He believes I am here for a reason but he is the only one, not even Lord Elrond agrees with it. Rivendell (where I am currently) is beautiful. I am sure Hermione would love it here. Do not worry too greatly about me, for it is not as bad as I may make it out to be. Yours respectfully, Harry J. Potter.”

IX.

And it is true that Harry was slowly growing to like Middle-Earth. Despite his biases against it, it had done nothing wrong to him and the ones who lived there were increasingly kind and good. Perhaps that was a plan of Gandalf’s all along: to get Harry to Rivendell where anyone would feel welcomed in order to make him want to stay. Regardless of if it was or not, Harry would not have cared. But it had been a while now, another week since he sent the last letter, and he was currently in the library pulling out maps to decide where to travel to next.

“What is this?” Gandalf asked, taking half of the armful of scrolls and walking with Harry to a table.

“This is my foreseeable future,” Harry responded as he rolled out the first.

“You are going to travel?”

“That was the plan,” Harry looked up from his position bent over the table, hands splayed out to keep the map from curling back up. “Why? Do you suggest against it?”

“No, no, it’s just interesting.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“What is?”

“You were so against extended travel at first. You realize you will need a full story now, don’t you?”

Harry rolled his eyes and then settled them back on the parchment. “And I suppose you still want to stick with your plan?”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“Run it by Lord Elrond. I trust his judgement. If he thinks it’s a good idea then we’ll do it but if not, I get to make up my own story.”

“I find that agreeable.”

“Great,” Harry said, “But for now I need different help. Where do you recommend I go?”

“Hm,” Gandalf came and looked over the maps at Harry’s side. “My next stop is at the Ettenmoors to do some spring cleaning. You are more than welcome to join me.”

Harry’s back went ramrod straight, his hands flying from the map leaving it to close slowly with a soft _fwip, fwip, fwip, fwip_.

“You would allow me to join you further?”

“Allow you?” Gandalf’s great eyebrows furrowed in the middle, almost hiding his blue eyes from view. “I would insist upon it. I have seen no proof of your ability to protect yourself and the world is dangerous beyond these borders!” It was only due to the great amount of time they have spent together than Harry could see the teasing for what it was. Such a great mood that Harry was in, he answered in a similar matter.

“Well, I’ll have to show you just how capable I am! Name a time and place, Mr. the Grey, and I’ll leave you in my dust!”

“You are rather confident in your abilities?”

“My magic is not here for nothing. If there is anything at all that I have learned through my years, it is how to defend myself from those wishing me harm. I cannot get by on weak attempts and hoping for help. I know how to survive.”

They did not talk much more on the topic but they did approach Lord Elrond that night about their plans to leave. Much to Harry’s annoyance, he agreed with Gandalf’s idea to say Harry was a new Istar (Ithron to the Sindarin Elves) but had some amendments.

“Do not reveal that lie until you are asked about it. It is true that everyone will be curious, but if you leave and do not return, there could be great backlash. If you can get by without ever telling anyone your story, do so.”

That made sense to Harry and even went along with one of his big mental drawbacks. It was the other amendment that he did not agree with.

“You will need a new name.”

“What?” He said, aghast.

“The Ithryn have many names but they all mean something. _Gandalf_ means Wand-elf in Mannish and _Mithrandir_ means Grey Pilgrim in Sindarin.”

“But I’m not an Ithron!”

“But you’re pretending to be one.”

“But we’re trying _not_ to make that obvious!”

“What name were you thinking?” Gandalf asked, as if he knew this was going to happen all along.

“ _Ithreniol_ , was my idea.”

“Wandering wizard? Yes, I think that suits him quite well.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry screeched, hands fisted in his messy black hair. “Are you guys _hearing yourselves?_ ‘Oh, let’s make sure not to give anything away! And hey, by the way, let’s _totally give everything away!'"_

“Harry,” Gandalf interrupted, looking disappointedly at the world traveler.

“ _Yes_ , Gandalf? What have I done wrong this time?”

“Harry,” Elrond regained control of the conversation, “Are you at all sensitive to magic?” Deciding to roll with the new topic, trusting Elrond to bring it back to the current point by the end, Harry answered.

“Yes, my lord. All wizards are born with some degree of innate ability to sense magic. To what degree, it differs, but we at least can sense and connect with our own.”

“Allow me to explain something about elves. All races on _Ennor_ have some degree of magic in them. For dwarves, it shows in their wonderful craftsmanship; for hobbits, in their farming and quiet feet. Elves are different in that they can, in addition to use their small magic, sense great amounts in others. You needed only to cross the borders of Imladris for all elves here to recognize you as a great bearer of magic. You are strong with it, though we cannot tell what it shall manifest as. A Man with magic is often a performer of miracles. What I mean to say is that they will not assume you are an Ithron, but attention will be attracted to you regardless. You cannot hide what you are from elves, and therefore there is no use in hiding it from the elvish language. But others will not sense you, they will not understand your name meaning, and they shall not be a risk to your health.”

The argument had holes in it, but Harry saw no reason to point them out. Both Elrond and Gandalf could rarely be swayed separately, so together Harry saw no reason to try. He would insist upon his friends calling him Harry and this would not last long anyhow, so he told himself he would not allow himself to be bothered.

Gandalf, for some reason, insisted upon calling Harry “Ithreniol” now whenever he had the chance so Harry reluctantly became used to responding to it. They packed their bags and Elrond provided a good quality elven cloak and a sleeping roll to Harry, who thanked him profusely, and the two wizards departed from the beautiful city only a few days after their plans were set. Harry kept McGonagall updated and she did the same for him and another week or two passed without him even realizing. He took note only when an important event occurred.

Harry and Gandalf were walking side-by-side as they passed over shallow hills and open grassland, twilight pressing on them like a well-worn blanket, when the howls of Wargs sounded closer than they ever had. It was not such a surprise: the closer they got to the Ettenmoors, the closer too was Gundabad.

“Wargs,” Gandalf spit, “And likely Orcs, too. Look closely, Ithreniol… what do you see?”

Harry stared out into the fading darkness, heels on a constant pivot, until he saw quick movement from their left. “There!” He shouted, and pointed to where at least a half-dozen figures were closing in. “Wargs with riders.”

“Prepare yourself. Now it is time to prove that you can fight.”

“To fight? You should ask for something _difficult_ ,” and then the Wargs were upon them and Harry’s wand got the use it had been waiting for.

Fawkes was flying far above them when the attack began and he did not come down except to claw the eyes of an Orc that got too close to Harry’s right side. It was difficult only being two fighters when Harry had grown up being a part of a group of three but they managed just fine. The Orc arrows that kept Fawkes away were easily kept out with a _protego_ and Wargs could withstand only four to five stunning spells until finally falling victim to the next one. Harry allowed Gandalf to take care of actually killing them and then slid his wand away with a self-satisfied smirk.

“That was very well done,” Gandalf graciously acknowledged.

“That was very well done with only three spells total,” Harry (bragged) informed. “The shield spell to keep out the arrows, the stunning spell to down the Wargs, and the blasting spell to keep the Orcs away. Not even high powered or leveled spells.”

“So you still have not showed me what you can do?”

“You’ll see it all eventually,” Harry shrugged, but began to wish he had not been so cocky just then. Bad things happen to those unnecessarily proud. “You did great too, Gandalf. Thanks for the save, Fawkes.”

The bird in question gave a small trill but flamed away before he finished it, something Harry thought was strange. It was answered ten minutes later (spent continuing their walk) when Fawkes arrived with a letter.

Recently, talk with McGonagall was slowly becoming less about if she had found anything new and more about the reconstruction of Hogwarts, the welfare of the friends he no longer surrounded his thoughts on, and the curriculum changes for the upcoming school year. Harry sent a letter weekly and she would respond soon afterward so Fawkes was allowed long breaks without having to flame anywhere. She has proven to be a caring person and managed to get Hermione and Ron the best medical care possible through her authority and their fame and Harry did not even need to sign any forms.

But that may have proved to be an unfortunate curse, judging by the new letter.

“Mr. Potter, I recognize that you have not replied to my most recent letter, but there is an urgent matter that you must become aware of. The papers have caught wind of your disappearance. Fred Weasley’s funeral was yesterday and when you did not show, an investigation began. It became clear quite quickly that no one had seen you in a few days and plenty of appointments you made were missed so they believe something dreadful has happened to you. I have made no announcements and do not plan to unless you wish for something to be said. What do you want to be done?

“They think Death Eaters are involved: that they have taken you and are trying to bring back their master through violent rituals. I do not know where this rumor has come from, but it has the Weasley family worried and the world on the lookout. No one suspects anything close to the truth, except for Ms. Lovegood, who sent me a letter just this morning asking if I would tell you that ‘there are less nargles in his head when surrounded by gardfings.’ I do not know what that means, but she has always known more than other students her age.

“I will proceed how you wish for me to. This is, after all, weighing more heavily on your future than that of any other. Stay safe and think quickly, Minerva McGonagall.”

Well, of course Harry was stumped. He could not come out about what really was going on in his life, but he did not want anyone to worry unnecessarily. It took a long time and council from Gandalf until Harry finally wrote out a letter to McGonagall that had attached to it a written statement to be sent to all magical newspapers. He said in it that he was facing a difficult circumstance that made it impossible to attend all important events, not because he didn’t want to but because he genuinely was incapable of the travel there. It was short but heartfelt and gave Harry an idea.

“Before my closing, I ask you this:” Harry said at the bottom of the McGonagall’s letter, “Have you yet tried a summoning ritual? I cannot gather the magic required to leave but perhaps being pulled away would prove more effective. Thank you again for all of your help, Harry J. Potter.”

But alas it, like all other methods, proved not to help at all and Harry was left disappointed in the situation and especially in himself, for it was apparent to him that as the time passed, his determination to go home was waning.

X.

Time passed so quickly.

Harry and Gandalf made it to the Ettenmoors and defeated a great number of vile creatures before they were inevitably overwhelmed and moved on with their travelling. Gandalf insisted upon going west to the North Downs and Harry was more than happy to accompany him there to check that no questionable forces had taken control of the ruins and desolate land. When they were ready to move on from there, Harry had been in Middle Earth for over six months and thought less and less of Earth each day.

To his great surprise, Fawkes flashed in soon after that revelation with a gift parcel in his talons. Harry unwrapped it and almost cried when he recognized the item for what it was: the old mirror from Sirius.

“Hello?” He called, but received no answer when he didn’t know who would have the other end of the communication. The answer came later that same night when he heard someone calling his voice and took out the mirror to find Luna’s face staring back at him.

“Oh, Luna!” He actually cried then and she was as patient with him as she ever has been. “Please, how are you all doing?”

They spoke for hours and debated the matter of the time difference and the power of the twin mirrors for managing to stop or line up the timelines to allow for communication to happen between them. It was something that Harry was sure Hermione would have loved to throw her brain into. Luna updated Harry more completely, revealed that she was with McGonagall, who took the mirror for a minute and wished him well, and then said that it would be left in the headmistress’ office and the existence of it would be made known to anyone Harry wanted.

Harry didn’t even bother to wonder how Luna knew what was going on with his life and instead rattled off a list of names of people he wanted to hear from regularly. Professor McGonagall (who finally told him that she wasn’t his professor anymore and really, he could call her just by her surname or Minerva if he wished) assured him she would take care of it and they ended the call with smiles all around. Harry hugged Gandalf after he put the mirror back in his bag and grinned so widely he feared his face would break.

“I am so happy Gandalf,” he shared, more open with his feelings than he would normally be, “I am so happy that one of my problems has been solved.” Naturally, it was asked what problem that was and Harry had an answer ready for him. “My desire to return home has been fading as I considered Middle-Earth more and more a home to me, ever since Rivendell. But my friends were still so far away and it would have weighed on me forever if I gave up looking for a way back without attempting communication or scouring every library I could reach. In this solution, I can have everything my heart was fighting so desperately over.”

Harry smiled more easily after that day and Gandalf was always quick to mention it. When they made their way back to Rivendell months later, it was the first thing Lord Elrond made a point to bring up. Harry did not talk deeply of his old life to them and they therefore did not understand why bonds only seven years old or less were so important to him; while he humored their attempts to understand, he never confirmed anything so eventually they stopped asking outright and tried various, more subtle approaches.

 Harry humored those too until he grew tired of the constant peering into personal memories and told them that he was going on another journey. Arwen, whom he had become quite close to after going to her to seek refuge from Gandalf’s prying questions one day, begged her _adar_ to let her go, insisting to him that it had been too long since she had been outside the city limits, and he broke under her sweet voice with the condition that they would take one other. A kind but quiet warrior elf named Lithuidîr was chosen to go with them and they grew close in their year-long journey to Edoras and back.

Harry was able to speak to his friends and make new ones and he watched his godson Teddy grow by the day, all the while learning Sindarin and Quenya and having tales about him spread without his realizing, and such happenings went on for a long while, until one day Harry received word of a quest.


	2. The Beginning: XI. - XIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these passages have words taken directly from the movie. Others took the words and jumbled them up in a bag, first.

XI.

Harry was travelling west to Hobbiton when he caught the whispers that concerned him. He was travelling alone this time, something he did not often do after almost being overtaken by Orcs a few too many times, and was on his way to visit Bag-End.

He had been this way many, many times before. The first time was with Gandalf when he first arrived in Middle-Earth and the second time was almost four years after when he decided he wished to thank Berylla and Balbo again for their hospitality. He met their new hobbitling that trip, a small little fellow named Mungo who asked a dozen questions a minute and then fell asleep so suddenly on a living room chair. By the fond glances thrown, Harry wagered it was not an uncommon occurrence.

Since then, he had been back many times, each about five years apart. He watched as Mungo grew and was eventually invited to his wedding with a lovely lady from around the bend, Laura Grubb, and he comforted Berylla and Balbo as they got on with age. Something that did not seem to touch him.

Harry looked little older than he did when he arrived, though maturity and wisdom straightened out his spine, and it was a matter to debate for all who knew the truth. Harry’s own personal guess was that he was aging as his friends did over in Earth, where he had been away from for their equivalent of more than two years. He could see how he looked that much older, closer to being twenty now instead of the teen he was, but Galadriel and Gandalf insisted he was aging more like an elf (by reaching maturity first and then halting aging at all) so perhaps the magic had changed him just so. It was not a question that bothered Harry all too much, as time seemed to pass so quickly there with the long journeys and beautiful Imladris and the hundreds of places to visit.

But as he was saying, he was on his way to Hobbiton.

Mungo has now since grown old and his son, Bungo, in turn had a son named Bilbo, who was who Harry was on the way to see now. But before he could, a voice came from behind him.

“Ithreniol!” Harry paused in his walking and turned to where the voice came from. He recognized it, of course, and gave Gandalf a raised eyebrow when he locked gazes with him.

“Harry, please, Gandalf,” his voice was tired from all of the times he had said those same words to the Grey wizard.

“Ithreniol, my good friend, what do you have planned for the next year?”

Harry knew where this was going at once and so rolled his eyes and turned on his heel.

“What’s the name of the poor young sod you’re forcing an adventure upon?” He asked conversationally as he continued his steps. Behind him, he heard a huff and knew, though he couldn’t see, Gandalf was looking affronted. However, what he missed was the warmth in the old wizard’s eyes at the comfort Harry shows when he’s around him.

“Why, one Bilbo Baggins, I’m thinking.” That statement made Harry stop in his tracks.

“Bilbo? Never mind that… a Baggins?” He asked as he turned back towards the older man. “You know they don’t do anything unrespectable for a hobbit.”

“Yes, yes, but don’t you remember young Bilbo?”

“I would not be on my way to visit him if I did not.”

“He always loved to hear of the stories; and he quite liked my fireworks, as I recall.”

“Yes, but a Baggins-’”

“And his mother was the remarkable Belladonna Took! Oh, how I miss her…” And indeed he did. Belladonna along with many of her eleven brothers and sisters had at one point gone on an adventure with Gandalf. It was practically a coming-of-age for the Took family! But Belladonna in particular was bold and cunning, brave and full of courage, never stopping or taking a break…

If Bilbo was anything like her, he would be a magnificent choice for an adventure.

“So you will ask him to join you?” Harry asked.

“I’ll insist upon it!”

“Gandalf,” Harry warned, “Don’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“So will you come?” The wizard’s eyes were twinkling, as if he knew he had won something.

“No,” Harry said flatly and resumed his walking once more.

“No? But don’t you want to keep young Bilbo safe?” Gandalf asked and Harry’s face screwed up. He was, of course, right. Keeping up contact with the Baggins through four generations meant he felt the health of “young Bilbo,” though really he was well passed maturity, was in his hands at this point.

“Fine,” he said at last, “But don’t expect anything more from me for at least a decade.”

They travelled together the rest of the way until the day they reached Hobbiton, at which point Gandalf stole ahead with the claim that he had things to take care of beforehand. Harry’s mistake was in not thinking any more about it and continuing his leisurely stroll.

Some of the hobbits recognized him with his frequent visits to their homeland and they waved lazily as he passed. He nodded at every hobbit he saw and waved at the little ones that hid behind trees to spy on him until he reached the door of a certain Baggins.

He scowled when he saw the marking that rested upon it.

Gandalf had already been by, it appears, and Bilbo refused the offer of an adventure. So Gandalf was calling the dwarves to him anyway.

“What part of ‘don’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do’ doesn’t that old rag understand?” Harry muttered to himself foully. He was here at the house and it was a little while before supper which gave him time to properly explain to the hobbit what would be going down that evening.

He stepped up to the door, lowered his thick wool hood without really realizing it was ever up, and knocked three times.

“Just a moment, please!” He heard from inside and Harry gave a sad little sigh when he realized it had been almost eight years since he had lasted visited Bilbo. He always tried to come at least every five years, but he had lost track of time visiting the beautiful southern kingdoms and therefore it had been a while.

“Good afternoon!” The small creature said quickly as he pulled open the door. He then looked up and his eyes widened like saucers. “Master Harry!” He cried out, “It’s been so long! Good afternoon! Or evening, rather.”

“Just Harry is fine, Master Baggins,” Harry assured, as he always did, as he was ushered into the wonderfully warm home Bungo made for Belladonna not too terribly long before. He hung his cloak on one of the many hooks and placed his many bags underneath.

“I’ll call you Harry when you call me Bilbo,” the hobbit retorted, as he always did, and Harry bowed his head in surrender.

“Very well, Bilbo,” Harry said, which was new but Bilbo was finally looking older than the ever-young Harry and so the wizard could no longer treat him as a child.

“So how have things been?” Bilbo asked as he led Harry to the kitchen and put on a kettle for tea.

“They’ve been fine, but I’m actually here to talk about you. I understand you had a visitor this morning?” Bilbo jumped, startled, but then nodded.

“Oh, yes, I did! Gandalf the Grey came up to me and began speaking to me of adventures! Of all things!”

Harry took the proffered cup of tea with a nod of thanks but didn’t sip from it yet. “Tell me honestly, Bilbo, what you really think of going on an adventure?”

The hobbit spluttered and shook his head wildly. “It’s not respectable!” He claimed. “Hobbits simply do not go on adventures; it’s not right!”

Harry shook his own head in return. “Your mother went on an adventure with Gandalf, didn’t you know?”

“My mother?” Bilbo asked in amazement. “No, I don’t think I did know that.”

Harry nodded, leaned back against the chair he was in, and finally tasted his tea. It was good, if a bit too earthly to him. “She went on one with Gandalf and one of her brothers; to defeat a group of mountain trolls, I think it was.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said and stared down into his cup.

Harry sighed and straightened in his seat. “Bilbo, I am here to tell you that Gandalf insists upon you going on that adventure. He put a mark on your door earlier today so the thirteen dwarves he has coming will know where to go.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Bilbo asked as he startled out of his own wooden chair.

“I mean that in an hour or so you should begin expecting dwarrows to knock on your door.”

“But that’s supper time!” Bilbo cried out. Harry nodded solemnly.

“Yes and my guess is that they will be expecting food.” Bilbo looked faint. Harry really couldn’t blame him. “So, I suppose we should get started!”

“We?” Bilbo asked feebly as he swayed on his feet.

“Of course; you don’t really think I’d leave you to deal with them on your own, did you?” Bilbo only nodded and Harry rolled his eyes. “Well I’m not going to do that. Now, what do you say we start making food and I’ll place preservation charms on it all?”

And that was what they did. Once Bilbo got over his shock, they cooked for the next hour while exchanging stories of what had happened in the last five years.

“I’ve heard a rise in rumors,” Bilbo began once as he looked up at Harry slyly, “They’re about the Sixth Istar having been seen in surrounding areas.”

Harry groaned and covered his face. “I’m a bloody gossip topic,” he complained and Bilbo gave him a comforting pat on his lower back (since that was easiest to reach for him).

“At least they do not know the truth?”

Bilbo did not know the truth either, but Harry could easily say that the Bagginses knew more about his situation here than most everyone else. Ever since Berylla they all were told about how he was from another world and a user of magic but they never spoke about it.

“No, but the rumors are getting crazier every year and at this point they have figured much of it out.”

They were just finishing the spread when the first knocks sounded through the homely hole. Bilbo rushed to the foyer immediately and Harry followed him at a more sedate pace.

“Good evening!” He greeted and stared in awe at the large, heavily armed being.

“Dwalin, at your service,” the dwarf said with a deep voice and a bow.

Bilbo stood, ready for this due to Harry’s forewarning. “Bilbo Baggins at yours,” he said as he tied his forgotten robe that he was now realizing he should have changed out of. Dwalin pushed passed him and stopped in surprise when he realized there was someone else in the hall.

“Harry, at your service,” Harry said with a bow of his own, as was custom for dwarves. Dwalin nodded at him as well before speaking.

“Which way, laddie?”

Bilbo jumped in surprise. He looked to Harry in question and the wizard mouthed ‘food.’ His eyes widened in realization and moved forward quickly.

“Straight down that hallway, if you please-” he was cut off by the dwarf throwing his large cloak at him. Bilbo turned to Harry again with panic on his face and the latter was quick to take him into a comforting hold.

“Alright, cloak: where do you want those?” He asked him and Bilbo pointed towards the long line of hooks. Harry nodded and took it off of the hobbit’s hands, moving around him to hang the cloak neatly. He then rejoined Bilbo and together they sat in the kitchen and waited for the rest to show. When the knocks sounded again, Dwalin looked up but Bilbo was already on his feet and heading to the entrance. Harry, once again, followed him silently.

“Balin, at your service,” the white-haired dwarf said with his bow when the door opened. Bilbo and Harry did the same immediately afterwards, with Bilbo adding in a ‘good evening!’ The dwarrow looked up to the sky and nodded. “Yes, yes it is.” He looked as if he was going to say more, but then saw Dwalin from over Bilbo’s shoulder. “Oh! Evening brother!”

Harry realized then that even though it was rude not to greet a guest at the door, they probably shouldn’t have left a dwarf alone. At that point he had made his way to the living room and had a hand in the glass cookie jar and crumbs in his facial hair.

“By my beard,” Dwalin said as he placed the container back on its shelf. They had a small conversation that the host and wizard chose to ignore out of privacy, but their attention was drawn again when they heard a resounding _thunk_.

The two dwarves had just crashed their heads together as a way of greeting. Harry shook his head in bewilderment.

He continued to follow Bilbo and allow him to attempt to rein in the terribly impolite dwarves as they made their way to the pantry. He felt a muscle in his forehead tick when they threw a block of cheese across the room because it was speckled with blue. They obviously didn’t have blue cheese where they came from.

“Uh, ahem, look, I know you’re here because Gandalf is insisting I come on this adventure of yours, but, um, Gandalf isn’t here yet. And, for that matter, neither are the other dwarves. So, uh, I would appreciate if you would not raid my pantry and instead eat the food Harry and I have already prepared for you. If there is something you don’t like, you need only to ask if I have something else.” The dwarves didn’t seem to be listening and Bilbo huffed angrily. “I just had to speak my word, I’m sorry.” He wasn’t actually sorry, but hobbits had impeccable manners.

At that moment, both dwarrows stopped their conversation and turned to Bilbo. “Apology accepted,” Balin said and the hobbit’s mouth dropped. Harry moved forward to place a hand on Bilbo’s arm and it was then that banging started again.

“At this point, Harry,” the hobbit hissed as they moved quickly to the door, “At this point I don’t think I want any more dwarves in my home!”

“I know, Bilbo,” Harry reassured, “But it’s only for tonight. And I’m sure Gandalf would be happy to pay you back for the food they’re eating – or throwing.” Bilbo would have replied, but by then they had reached the foyer. Bilbo pulled open the door.

There were two dwarrows this time, one with blond hair and the other had brown. The brunet’s curled fist was hovering over the door and Harry wondered if they had really taken so long as to almost warrant a second knocking. His musings were cut short by the speaking of the first one, the blonde.

“Fíli-” he announced.

“-and Kíli,” the second one added.

“At your service!” They concluded and gave a great bow; it was lower than the others had been.

_Fred and George_ , his heart whispered to him painfully, _that’s something Fred and George would do_! It was true that Harry still spoke to George regularly through the use of the mirror, but Fred had long since died and there had been no twin-ish acts since then.

“You must be Mister Boggins!” Kíli declared and Bilbo frowned.

“Bilbo Baggins, actually,” he said but they had turned their attention to the man behind him.

“Harry, at your service,” Harry said with a bow of his own and they smiled in return. They pushed past the duo and when Harry noticed one removing weapons he moved forward. “I’ll take your weapons,” he said and Fíli dropped them into his arms. From a meter away, Harry could see Bilbo mouth ‘weapons’ to himself in surprise. Harry only raised his eyebrows as Fíli took a knife out of his boot, then from a pocket, then from a strap on his thigh…

It seemed he liked to be protected. Or maybe it was also to protect who was obviously his younger brother. And indeed they were young, according to their healthy hair and Kíli’s lack of beard.

“Careful with these; I’ve just had them sharpened,” Fíli said and Harry only nodded. That was a lot of blades to have sharpened. Kíli, on the other hand, had none and had taken to cleaning his boots on the available furniture.

“That’s my mother’s glory box; can you please not do that!” He heard Bilbo exclaim as he put the weapons in the first room on the right. He came back and rolled his eyes, motioning for Bilbo to follow them to the kitchen as Dwalin led them there. When they had gone, Harry moved to his wand, hidden in his holster, and tapped it gently on the wooden box.

“ _Tergeo_ ,” he whispered and watched as the mud on the chest turned green before it disappeared into nothing.

When there were knocks again and Bilbo was still in the other room, Harry chose to answer it himself. He pulled the wood open and jumped back when eight bodies suddenly fell into the foyer. He then raised his eyebrows at the one left standing.

“Bilbo isn’t very happy with you, Gandalf,” Harry warned as he helped the closest ones up.

“A Man!” The dwarf he was helping cried out. “Gandalf, you didn’t say there would be a Man here!”

“That’s an elf if I’ve ever seen one,” another said scornfully.

“That’s no Man, Bofur,” Gandalf replied easily as he ducked into the home, “Nor is Ithreniol an elf.”

“The sixth wizard,” the apparent youngest dwarf said as he gazed at Harry in admiration. Harry threw his head back and groaned.

“I’m doomed,” he complained, and Gandalf could be heard laughing at him. “My name is Harry; please use it.”

“The Company, I present to you Ithreniol of Great Britain!” When Harry turned away from the grey wizard, he realized that the other dwarrows, Dwalin, Balin, Fíli and Kíli, were there behind Bilbo. They were all looking at him in something akin to surprise.

“Of all things that are good, I prey to thee in askance that you bless me with patience lest I accidentally curse Gandalf to Gondor and back,” Harry mumbled under his breath as he began collecting the weapons and gestured to Bilbo for him to take the outer cloaks. He heard a snort come from somewhere behind him and when he sneaked a look he saw Fíli covering his mouth and Kíli smiling openly.

He winked at them to acknowledge that he had heard them before leaving the room to set the weapons with the others. When he returned, it was to realize that he was the center of discussion.

“Is it true he can perform magic?”

“Gandalf says he’s not a Man!”

“But he’s not old!”

As time passed and it became increasingly evident that Harry would not be leaving Arda, he and the other wise members of Gandalf’s council decided it was less and less important to deny the rumors. He would be there as the Istari were meant to do and Harry had to use magic a fair few times in front of others to keep everyone safe. It did not surprise him that these dwarves had heard such discussion about him.

“Why is another wizard here?” One of the dwarrows that Harry couldn’t remember the name of asked.

“Is it true he is an Istar?”

“I believe Ithreniol can answer those,” Gandalf said vaguely and gestured over that dwarf’s head where the wizard had entered the room.

“Why do I have to explain?” Harry asked as he forced Bilbo into a seat and made room for another one next to him. “You’re the one that played on my poor heart to get me to go along.”

“But you’re so good with stories, my friend,” Gandalf joked in a way the others might not have quite recognized.

“This isn’t much of a story. You told me you would be forcing my dear hobbit friend into another one of your harebrained adventures and played my heartstrings like a twice-damned lyre when you said it would be better if he wasn’t to be alone in the dangers you no doubt are planning. How could I say no while maintaining an unburdened conscience?”

“I thought quite the same, Ithreniol,” Gandalf nodded his head respectfully and Harry snorted. He grabbed the bowl of baked potatoes that sat in front of him and dropped three on his plate. He was going to need more energy if he had to deal with this idiocrasy.

“My name is Harry. As for your second question, the answer is no. I am not an Istar as I am not a Maia, but I have magic and therefore call myself a wizard. That is all you must know.”

They chatted and ate and Harry focused on calming Bilbo down from where he had worked himself up again and was really doing so well when the dwarves finished their food and began to clean up. That wouldn’t have been a problem if they did not then begin throwing their plates and cutlery around and singing a merry song.

“Oh, I don’t know how I can manage this!” Bilbo cried out pitifully, “I want them gone, Harry! They are going to bend my forks – just look at them!”

Harry was already watching, he didn’t need an invitation, but his stern look was leveled more at Gandalf, who was sitting back and enjoying the show like always.

“Can we get on with this, _Mithrandir_? You are frightening poor Bilbo.”

“We are still missing one more of our company; the most important one, as it is.” Harry groaned and rolled his head back against the chair.

“Did we save any food?” He asked Bilbo.

“In the kitchen.”

“Good, good. And when will he arrive?”

At that very moment, just as Harry’s mouth was closing with the end of his question, there came a definitive knock at the door. The dwarves went silent and Gandalf lit his pipe.

“That would be him.”

“Come, Bilbo,” Harry stood up the pale hobbit and guided him to the door. “Who is this, Gandalf?” He muttered quickly to the Istar. It was the matter in which he said it, quietly and with clear need of an answer, that made Gandalf respond.

“King Thorin Oakenshield.”

“ _Vestis ut melius_ ,” Harry whispered and waved his wand in an infinity symbol towards Bilbo’s robe, which folded into better evening wear. The few dwarves that followed them to the main foyer watched in amazement. “You’re going to be fine.”

Bilbo swung the door open with nervous running energy and he and Harry stared at the dwarf that stood there. Dwarves weren’t much taller than hobbits, they averaged about a foot taller than them, but it was the regal air that this one else that made him appear official and proud. Harry nudged Bilbo in the back.

“Bilbo B-Baggins, at your service,” he managed to force out, and bowed real low.

“Where is Gandalf?” Thorin ignored Bilbo completely and stepped around him only to come face to face with Harry. His face screwed up unattractively. “ _Elf scum_.”

“Incorrect,” Harry sniped back, mood immediately dropping at least four levels. “My name is Harry Potter, _your highness_.”

“Ah, Thorin! You made it!” Gandalf revealed himself and relieved at least some of the tension in the room.

“Just barely. If it weren’t for the mark on the door I shouldn’t have seen this hole at all. I passed it twice before the dark even set.” Bilbo’s nose twitched at the mention of the mark on his newly-painted door but did not speak of it.

“Well, now we are all here and now we can begin.”

“There’s food for you in the kitchen,” Harry said as he turned away, “I will bring it out.”

Thorin ate as the rest of the company sang songs and after only a little while everyone was finished and Gandalf was pulling out a map.

“What news from the meeting at Ered Luin? Did they all come?” Balin asked his king, who responded well.

“Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms.”

“What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dáin with us?” This was Dwalin and this time Thorin replied with bitterness.

“They will not come.” There were murmurs and exclamations of disappointment. “They say this quest is ours, and ours alone.”

“You’re going on a quest?” Bilbo spoke up and Harry closed his eyes slowly. The hobbit did not yet see that he was to be part of this journey. Gandalf pushed forward his map and looked to Bilbo.

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light.”

Bilbo stood quickly but he was so trapped in that Harry put his hand on his shoulder and pushed his back down into his chair.

“You can get your own light just fine, _Mithrandir_ ,” Harry said pointedly, eyes focused on his staff. Gandalf chuckled and tapped it on the floor, a ball of light forming at the end near the crystal.

“Far to the East,” Gandalf said, “Over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

“The Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo read from the parchment.

“Gandalf!” Harry spoke sharply. “You can’t be serious!”

“Óin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time.”

“To Erebor? I have not even wandered that way. The journey takes you through Mirkwood.”

“I did not realize you had such a problem with Mirkwood, Harry,” Gandalf sat back in his seat and watched the wizard over his pipe.

“I don’t and you know it, but you cannot deny the many dangers-!”

“With expansion charms they should not run out of food so staying on the path should not be a problem.”

“Ah, well at least now I know why I am here.” Harry looked around the table at the many dwarves who were not shy about listening with interest. “It is dangerous for anyone, but especially for a hobbit that has never left the Shire.”

“Dangerous?” Bilbo asked, eyes lit up with questions that Harry wished he would ignore for his own health.

“Aye. The beast waits at the end of the quest.”

“But it is time!”

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

“What beast?” At least that was a question asked out of concern, not interest.

“Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne firebreather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals-”

“Yes, I know what a dragon is,” Bilbo looked as though he was choking on something.

“You do not have to go,” Harry reminded in a whisper. “Do not let Gandalf guilt you or fool you. He is trying to recruit you to this journey but you have every right to say no.”

“No, no, I-” Bilbo stuttered through many words before picking some. “I am not an adventuring sort. Bagginses are a very respectable people.”

“We will go to Smaug and defeat him!”

“No,” Balin said. He seemed to be the oldest of them all. “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.”

“Hey!”

“No!”

“What about Gandalf? He’s going, is he not?” This was Harry again.

“I am not an official part of this company, Ithreniol.”

“ _Ithreniol_ ,” Thorin whispered in amazement, as he had not known who this unknown third party was.

“I will not be with them for the whole journey.”

"You were just going to leave Bilbo with them?”

“I was,” Gandalf smiled, “Until I invited you, of course.”

“Why _is_ he here, Gandalf?” Thorin asked, voice back to condescending and judgmental.

“Ithreniol is here because I believe he can be of help to you all when I can no longer be at your side.”

“Do not get carried away,” Harry warned them all, “As I will not go if Bilbo does not. I am here to protect him.”

“Harry,” Bilbo protested, and Harry felt extremely bad for acting as though he no longer was in the room.

“We would have two wizards then?” Harry thought it was Ori who asked that. “Smaug would not stand a chance! You must have defeated hundreds of dragons between the two of you!”

Gandalf choked on his smoke and Harry smirked in his direction.

“Uh, well, I wouldn’t say-”

“It depends what you mean by ‘defeat,’” Harry saved him with amusement in his voice.

“Hundreds, I told you!”

“There have never been hundreds of firedrakes in all of Middle-Earth!”

“He has never mentioned killing a dragon-”

“Who would mention it to _you_?”

“ _Shazara!_ ” Thorin bellowed from where he had stood so suddenly. Even Harry felt the reprimand though this dwarf was not his king. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!”

Harry had never wished more that he had learned Khuzdul, the language of dwarves. He could guess at what the strange words meant but he had learned much of Sindarin and took it upon himself to learn Quenya and at this point he needed a new language to focus on. Perhaps this one?

The dwarves were still speaking, something about a secret dwarf door and how Bilbo would be useful in scoping out the inside of the mountain, and there was Bilbo’s revelation that he was being recruited as a burglar, but Harry was not listening any longer. This conversation did not concern him.

He stood and left the dining room quietly, allowing the noise of Gandalf’s ire to cover his escape, and went to the front sitting room on the left side of the hobbit hole. It was over here that there were windows to the outside and Harry stared out of one for a good long while.

He did not need to debate the journey. It is true that Harry had been itching to go east of the Misty Mountains for a few decades now but there was still so much to see in the north- and south-west. In the end, if Bilbo would go, so would he.

His breath fogged up the windows so Harry wiped it away, imagining he could see the stars from his position. But the constellations were not noticeable from a round window inside of a hill. He wished he was outside.

“Ah, lay him down here.”

“Someone find him some wakeful herbs, will you?”

“Maybe some warm tea would do the trick?”

Harry turned his head and his whole body followed a moment after. Bilbo was unconscious and they had put him in a chair.

“What happened?” He cried.

“A little overdone, is all. Too much excitement for the young fellow.”

“Gandalf,” Harry scolded and went past him to the kitchen. Óin was there sorting through various jars and bins. “I’ve got it, thank you; you can go back to your family.”

Harry came back a few minutes later with a mug of hot chocolate to see Bilbo half-awake on his favorite chair.

“Come on, Master Bilbo. Up you get.”

“Thank you Harry,” he mumbled and took the mug but would not sip from it.

“Come on, you’ve gotta drink. Chocolate makes everyone feel better.”

“I seem to recall you saying that to me when I was younger and I took it to mean that I could have all chocolate for elevenses.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry laughed in regret, “Belladonna was quite upset with me. But you are fifty now Bilbo – no one can tell you not to eat chocolate.”

“Or drink it,” he responded and held up his mug in cheers and took a sip.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf began in his deep voice.

“Gandalf. I cannot just go running off on this adventure of yours. I have responsibilities!”

“Since when have they mattered so much to you? What happened to the young, curious hobbit that I remembered?”

“He has grown. I am a Baggins, of Bag-End, and that means I must be an adult.”

“You are also a Took. Did you know that your great-great-great-great-uncle, Bullroarer Took, was so large he could ride a real horse?”

Harry had heard this story once and was very upset when he realized he had come to this world just ten years too late, as he would have loved to have seen it. He also wished he could have been able to help in the Battle of Green Fields.

“You’ll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back.”

“Can you promise that I will come back?” Oh poor, poor Bilbo.

“No. And if you do, you will not be the same.”

“That’s what I thought. Sorry, Gandalf, I can’t sign this. You’ve got the wrong Hobbit.”

And with that, Bilbo set his mug down and left for his bedroom. Harry stared mournfully at the nearly full mug but was not thinking of the waste of chocolate; rather, his thoughts were focused on the hobbit that he could see was balancing on a very thin fence. His Took blood was strong in him.

“It appears we have lost our burglar,” Balin remarked.

“And our other wizard,” Kíli sighed.

“Probably for the best.”

This time when the urge went through him, Harry actually did go outside. It was chilly with the sun far below the horizon. The environment in there was intoxicating, and not in the best way. When surrounded by a dozen and one dwarves – all with their hearts set on going to reclaim the home that they lost – it was easy to get swept up in the dreams. But it was dangerous in Mirkwood.

Ah. Ever since Harry had accepted that he was in this world to stay, he had not made it a habit to deny his feelings. And his current feelings were that truly he had been longing to see the remnants of Greenwood the Great. He had been to Imladris repeatedly and saw it as his real home here in Middle-Earth, but what of the other two Elven kingdoms? He had spoken to Lady Galadriel through a water-mirror a few times back when he was still new here, but what of the Woodland Realm?

There was an outbreak of song from inside Bag-End but it was not near as cheerful as most dwarf songs are. The dwarves were singing in memory of the home they missed. Why did Harry feel like he was missing something as well?

XII.

When the dwarves and Gandalf left the next morning, at the first sign of light as promised, Harry wished them well.

“Ah, Harry,” Gandalf said, a mysterious lilt in his voice, “I have a feeling it won’t be long at all until we see you again.”

“Ugh,” Harry rubbed his hands into his eyes, “Well then leave me now, Gandalf. I will treasure the time spent away from you while it lasts.”

When Bilbo woke up an hour later, it was to a quiet home. Harry was finishing up making breakfast and when he saw large hobbit feet peaking around corners, he laughed.

“They are all gone, Bilbo,” the sound of a body jumping and falling into a wall was heard, “They left an hour ago.”

“Harry?”

“They took Gandalf with them, which was the best thing they did in all of their time here, that’s what I think.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

“Me?” Harry raised his eyebrow and walked into the eating room holding two plates. He set one down for Bilbo and motioned to it. “No. I told you yesterday that I would go if you did. Gandalf only asked me to come when he knew your health was on the line.”

“My health?” He sat and picked up his fork.

“Yes, yes, the whole dragon thing. Not to mention the trip as a whole would likely stretch to be longer than a year and you were sure to get yourself hurt somewhere there.”

“Hey!”

“But no you equals no me,” Harry shrugged. “I guess this means we’re both off the hook. Eat!” He pointed at the full plate with his own fork and they then were quiet for many minutes.

“So they’re gone,” Bilbo whispered. “Took the contract and everything.”

“The contract?” Harry thought for a second. “No, the contract is definitely still on the mantle.”

“What!” Bilbo leapt up and ran out of the room.

Harry sighed and collected the plates. It was too bad that they would not be washed but there was not enough time so it would have to happen after they got back. He dropped them off by the sink, went into the room he usually stayed in and picked up his bags, and made his way to the front door.

“Harry, Harry!” Bilbo went running back into the kitchen but when Harry wasn’t there he ran around until he found him in the front foyer. The long contract was waving in his hand. “Harry we have to catch up to them! We have to go!” Harry settled a pair of bags over Bilbo’s shoulders and stuffed a handkerchief into his palm.

“Go on then,” he said and pushed him out the door.

Truthfully, the bags were Harry’s and filled with Harry’s stuff, but Bilbo didn’t know that so he was gone in an instant. There wasn’t enough time to pack for Bilbo when he was scurrying around but the wizard did it then in a matter of minutes. A few choice spells were enough to get clothes and objects flying around him and settling into magically expanded bags. Harry took some extra food, picked up his most important bag and the one that went on his back (he gave neither to Bilbo because Bilbo was such a small thing and some of these bags would be going on the ponies waiting for them) and followed him out the door. A locking spell was placed and then Bag-End was left, not to be opened again for many months.

Harry didn’t catch up to Bilbo before they reached the ponies but he got there when they were still congratulating him on his arrival. They plopped him on a pony and Harry switched out the bags without Bilbo realizing before mounting a horse of his own.

“Hello again Ithreniol, Bilbo.”

“Hello, Gandalf,” Harry’s sigh was long-suffering.

They took off at last and the sight of a long line consisting of thirteen dwarves, one hobbit, one Istar, and the mysterious wandering wizard drew many eyes. Conversation was mostly around the dwarves as the wizards and Bilbo were too spread out but after a few minutes Harry was able to maneuver his horse to catch up to the other two. He had to duck once to avoid a thrown pouch of coins. Apparently they had made bets on whether or not Bilbo would show.

They travelled endlessly, through Hobbiton and the Shire in the direction Harry had gone so many times before: back to Rivendell. He was sure the dwarves did not know that Gandalf was planning on stopping by the Last Homely House, at least judging by the side-eyes Harry was receiving from him, but who was Harry to spoil the surprise? Bilbo would surely be excited to meet a few elves.

They travelled for a few days like this, in a line along worn pathways away from safe lands and carefully around the growing ire of the Old Forest, and Bilbo was coping surprisingly well for a Baggins. A night discussion of Orcs had thrown him off his game for a while but Harry wasn’t all too worried. They passed right through Bree without even stopping a night and Harry mourned the missed opportunity of some of their fine noodle-broth. After that last building, there were no establishments in the following week and a half spent on the East-West Road.

Gandalf and Harry talked the most through the first days with Harry being very careful not to let the harsh sun and long times without food worsen his mood. The dwarves were less lucky when a horrid rainfall at roughly the two-week mark seemed to soak their humor right from them.

“Mr. Gandalf, can’t you do something about this deluge?”

“It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done.” Harry had the most humorous flashback to when he had first met Gandalf and asked a very similar question to Dori. It seemed Gandalf’s feelings on the matter had not changed. “If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.”

At once, the entire company looked at Harry. He pretended not to notice.

“You mean an Istar, not a wizard?” Bilbo asked.

“Depending on the language, my friend, they are quite the same thing.”

“Are there any, then?”

“What?”

“Any other wizards who can also help us?”

“You already have two, isn’t that quite enough? Ah, well. There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman, the White. Then there are the two Blue Wizards,” Gandalf went quiet for a quick moment. “You know, I’ve quite forgotten their names.”

“Morinehtar and Rómestámo, Gandalf. For goodness sake, you’d think you could remember five names.”

“Ah, of course! Thank you, my dear Ithreniol.”

“And who is the fifth?” Bilbo asked, getting the conversation back to where he was interested.

“Well, that would be Radagast, the Brown.”

“Is he a great Wizard or is he... more like you?”

Harry snorted and had to cover his mouth not to let any more sound out. Oh, how he enjoyed Bilbo! Gandalf looked offended but in Harry’s humble opinion, he could stand to have his ego knocked down a bit.

“I think he’s a very great wizard, in his own way. He’s a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the East, and a good thing too, for always Evil will look to find a foothold in this world.”

Harry had never met Radagast, as it was. As mentioned, Harry had never ventured towards Mirkwood where his home was and Radagast never went far from his forest friends. He would leave for Wise Councils, but Gandalf had never bothered to call for one regarding Harry.

He sounded great though and Harry would certainly not mind meeting a gentle soul. Elves were like that, which was why he liked them so much.

The rain was coming down harder than ever and while Harry could easily cast spells on all of them, he wouldn’t do so without the permission of Gandalf. It’s not as though he _needs_ the permission, but Harry knew how he worked. This could be a mini trial for them to go through to prove that they could handle worse, or it could be an effort not to have them rely on a wizard. Harry tried to make eyes with him to sort it out but since he was avoiding such contact, Harry figured he wasn’t to do anything. He didn’t like that he had to suffer as well, though.

They passed quite some time like this but while the rain eventually subsided, the ground was wet and muddy so they pulled to the side of the path to look for shelter and a dry patch. When they made it to an old farmhouse, Thorin began to throw around orders and Harry stood with Gandalf at the side.

“We should make for the Hidden Valley. It would be much safer than this.”

“I have told you already, I will not go near that place,” Thorin shut Gandalf down. Harry thought he could hear howls in the distance but he knew that was his overactive imagination. If Wargs were nearby, he would know.

“They could help us. The rain had drenched much of our food supplies. They could provide us with more, as well as rest and advice.”

“I do not need their advice.”

“We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us.”

They couldn’t read the map? Well now, this was news to Harry. Perhaps he should have been listening in when they were speaking of the quest details.

“Help? A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the Elves looked on and did nothing. You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather and betrayed my father.” Thorin was red in the face, clearly very passionate in what he was saying. To Harry, it sounded cloaked in bitterness, but that was because he had always been partial to the elves. If it was true that the Elvenking of Mirkwood had turned his back to their plight, perhaps it was just proof that there are a few flat rolls in every batch.

“You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past.”

“I did not know that they were yours to keep.” Oh, dear. Gandalf was getting angry now, put up with everyone for being bull-headed and especially with Thorin and his aversion to elves. Harry reached his hands out, wanting to comfort Gandalf but not knowing the way when the receiving company was thousands of years old.

“Everything alright? Gandalf, where are you going?”

“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense.”

“Who’s that?”

“Myself, Mr. Baggins!” Harry let out an accidental ‘hey!’ in offense. “I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day.”

“What about fellow wizards?” Harry offered quickly. “Could you stand the company of one of those?” Gandalf harrumphed but motioned for Harry to follow him. Once they were a fair ways away from the dwarves and Bilbo, Harry crossed his arms.

“Alright, you old fool. What are you planning?”

“Whatever would I be planning in so dangerous a territory?” There was a grunt that sounded nearby. “Dear me, did you hear that?”

“Gandalf…” Harry warned.

“Don’t you worry yourself, fellow conspirator.”

“Do not group me with you!”

“If we sit just over here we will be able to watch the whole show.”

“ _Out of my way, Bert!_ ”

“Are those _trolls_ , Gandalf?!”

“Do be quiet. You’ll get us caught.”

The two of them watched the trolls for a while (disillusionment and silencing spells placed on them courtesy of Harry) and Harry took the time to chat with Teddy and Andy on the mirror. Teddy was getting big, he would be three in their next month, and he was always proud to show off his age on his little baby fingers. Andromeda was speaking so fondly of his recent accidental magic happenings when Gandalf nudged Harry lightly.

“I have to go for now Teddy-Bear, but I promise we can talk again soon, and in better light next time! I’m sorry Andy, but this is going to be time-sensitive.”

“I understand Harry, don’t you worry yourself too much.”

“Call as soon as you can! I miss you both,” and with that they sent their hugs and kisses and Harry tucked the blank mirror away. “Alright, what’s going on?”

“That’s our hobbit there.”

Gandalf pointed but he didn’t need to. Beautiful brass buttons reflected the firelight right where Bilbo was standing half-hidden behind a tree. He was alone, surely sent by the dwarves, and Harry couldn’t hear his quiet feet as he snuck closer to the three large mountain trolls. It looked like he was reaching for something.

“Oh, that fool,” Harry scolded and stood up just as the troll called William spun to grab Bilbo and the troll purse he was holding.

“No!” Gandalf shouted, but quietly. If that is possible. Like a whisper-shout.

“He is going to get himself hurt!” Harry said back and he was right, judging by the conversation going on between the trolls. Bert wanted to try to cook the ‘burrahobbit’ but William was not as committed to the idea.

“P’raps there are more like him round about, and we might make a pie. Here you, are there any more of your sort a-sneakin’ in these here woods, yer nasty little rabbit?”

“Yes, lots,” said Bilbo and Harry wanted to bang his head on a tree. Oh yes, he dearly adored the brave little guy, but how foolish he could be! “No none at all, not one,” Bilbo tried to correct himself. Harry rolled his head back on his neck until he was staring Gandalf down.

“Can I help him yet?”

“You cannot help him at all. That is what they are for,” and he pointed at where dwarves were gathering in the trees just outside of the firelight and therefore unable to see what was happening. The trolls were throwing punches now and Harry had lost track of Bilbo but he wasn’t worried too greatly yet. Mountain trolls were dumb and violent but they were fairly easy to defeat.

Harry watched as they crept forward one by one and were captured and placed in sacks. Harry was nervous – not so much towards the situation but their safety was still a concern of his – so therefore had his wand out and pointed loosely at Bert, who seemed the most violent of the bunch.

Thorin came last and put up a glorious fight. Harry was honored just to watch him wield a branch like the legendary oaken trunk but he was bested like all the others before him.

Of course, of-bloody-course, that would be when Gandalf came to the rescue. Here Harry was, perched and waiting to help despite the clear wish of his for the company to be more confident and closer to the burglar they had not chosen, wearing out his limbs with how taut they were, and then In Comes Gandalf with his vocal illusions and breaking of boulders as if it was nothing.

“Gandalf! Harry! Where were you?”

“Looking ahead,” said the elder wizard.

“What brought you back?” Thorin asked.

“Looking behind!” Harry shot out to rap his knuckles against Gandalf’s elbow and raised judgmental eyebrows. Damn wizards.

The dwarves, higher with hopes but humbled now after the troll cave had been looted and a chest of gold and silver had been buried for safe keeping, continued their journey. It was an adventurous night so Thorin allowed them a quick lie-in during the early morning hours, but then they were back to the old grind. Gandalf, Thorin, and Bilbo now had some wicked elf swords now though. Harry could admit to feeling envious, but he knew he could have gotten one from Rivendell years ago if he really wished it.

They trudged through the trees and brush to find their way back to the road they were following. They had gotten lost in the Trollshaws and it was merely a matter of finding their way out of the woods and the path should be waiting for them. They were making progress, Harry was sure they were near, when Gandalf looked around quickly.

“Something’s coming! Arm yourselves!”

Despite everything Harry might say against him, he trusted Gandalf with his life. He whipped his wand out of his arm holster with a spare thought that it was getting worn through again. He had already commissioned various Men and elves in the past to make him a new one but without fail, every eight years or so the holster would become too soft and worn at the end and it would become a safety hazard. There was no good in a holster that did not properly hold the weapon.

“Where?” Bilbo cried, and Harry got back on track.

The company ran through the woods, getting more lost than they already were and losing the ground they had spent so long to gain, when the noise of a large object being pulled accosted Harry’s delicate ears. Not elven-delicate, but more magically in-tune with the world.

“Thieves!” A high voice yelled out, “Fire! Murder!”

A sled pulled by huge rabbits broke through the clearing and Harry’s curse died on his lips when he saw the figure who rode it. While it was true he had never met the guy, Harry had heard enough from Gandalf to be able to recognize the Brown Istar.

“Radagast!” Gandalf confirmed for him, rather conveniently. “Radagast the Brown! Ah, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.” His movements were quick and nervous.

“Yes?”

Radagast suffered to speak and his mouth bobbed like Gandalf’s beard often waved and Harry felt the exasperation grow.

“Oh, just give me a minute. Um, oh, I had a thought, and now I’ve lost it. It was, it was right there, on the tip of my tongue.”

“Harry?” Bilbo whispered and Harry rolled his eyes in dismissal of the friends. He re-sheathed his wand and motioned for Bilbo to do the same with his sword.

“This might be a while. You never know, with wizards.”

“But you’re a wizard,” Glóin objected.

“Yes, and sometimes I enjoy a lengthy chat in the woods with friends,” Harry shrugged, “I just have better sense about when to host it.”

“Harry, will you come with us?” Gandalf and Radagast seemed to be separating for a private magic conversation and Harry was surprised at being invited to it.

“Of course, Gandalf.”

They walked a fair length away so that they could still hear the dwarves but the dwarves could not hear the careful wizards.

“Radagast, I would like you to formally meet Ithreniol, the wandering wizard.”

“How do you do,” they said to each other.

“Now, what is the matter, old friend?”

“The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf.” Harry shuddered at the sound of the dark forest. “A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows any more, at least nothing good. The air is foul with decay. But worst are the webs.”

“Webs? What do you mean?”

“Spiders, Gandalf. Giant ones.”

“Aragog,” Harry hissed to himself in remembrance. The others did not spare him a glance.

“Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant, or I am not a Wizard. I followed their trail. They came from Dol Guldur.”

“Dol Guldur? But the old fortress is abandoned.”

“No, Gandalf, it is not.”

This was very foul news, indeed. One would have to be extremely isolated or mortal not to have heard of the terrible times of the Necromancer. Apparently Radagast had seen proof of his existence again.

“Are you sure?” Gandalf asked. Radagast pulled from his bag a package and allowed Gandalf to see the contents. He then tipped it towards Harry.

“That is not from the world of the living.”

Suddenly, howls from a Warg pack sounded in the distance. It seemed to be a never-ending crescendo meant purely to cause fear. The wizards raced back to the dwarves and Bilbo and Gandalf was shouting questions and orders. Harry was casting magic as fast as he could on the feet of the company: a quick-stepping spell of his own creation.

“Run!” Radagast yelled just as Harry was finishing. The horses had bolted and they were being hunted by Orcs. “I’ll draw them off.”

Gandalf protested: “These are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you.”

 “These are Rhosgobel Rabbits; I’d like to see them try.”

And so began the chase. It was desperate and fast and it led the company out of the Trollshaws and into open land. There were hills and rocks and green patches but Harry was discouraged at the great amount of flat land that left them open to the eye of the enemy. Then Gandalf took a right and Harry recognized the rocks in the distance.

“Gandalf!” Harry yelled, not really having anything to say but wanting to acknowledge the plan and the eventual anger of the dwarves anyway.

“Lead them on if I cannot,” he responded perfectly calmly.

“Where are you leading us?” Thorin asked. It was not said suspiciously the first time but when there was a failure to answer, it was at its repetition.

“They’re gaining!”

“What can we do?”

“Shoot them! Kill them!” was shouted at Kíli and his bow.

“We’re surrounded!”

But they had reached the rocks that held salvation. Gandalf disappeared behind the largest one and Harry was going to follow him until cries broke out about how he was abandoning them. ‘ _Very faithful_ ,” Harry mocked them in his head, but outside began to wave his arm.

“There is a passageway here!”

“To where?” Thorin asked.

“This way, you fools!” Gandalf said from where he popped around the corner. Thorin did not hesitate to shove his dwarves that way.

“Come on, move! Quickly, all of you! Go, go, go!”

They managed to get the whole company hurdled within the hidden cave just on time; for when Thorin and Kíli jumped down, Wargs were upon them. But there also was the sound of elven horns, for which Harry could have cried in happiness. He was not truly worried for their safety – if Harry felt they would have died, he would have cast a large enough _protego_ to let them escape – but the sound of protectors from home was one that he would always welcome.

Harry and the others huddled in the cave and watched as elven legs whizzed past. He looked over to Gandalf, who was looking at Bilbo, who was looking at Thorin, who was looking at the arrow imbedded in the Orc body that rolled down the decline to their feet.

“ _Elves_ ,” he spat, and Harry repeated the statement in a much happier tone. Some of the dwarves shot quick glares at him but they did not last long when Harry pulled up a ball of light to guide their way. He was good enough at entertainment to cast an exo- _lumos_ inside his travelling cloak and pull it out, but it was not usually meant to entertain adult dwarves.

“I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or no?” Dwalin asked.

“Follow it, of course!” said Bofur.

“I think that would be wise.”

Well, of course Gandalf thought it would be wise. While the Orcs were not planned (of this Harry was roughly ninety percent certain), the secret passageway was always the plan of Gandalf and he therefore would support going that way. Still, Harry played the part of the unknowing companion and pretended not to feel his whole body lifting the closer they got.

And finally, Rivendell came into view. It still filled him with awe whenever he saw it for the first time after he’d been away. It hadn’t been long since he resided in these halls – truthfully, it had been a lot more recently than it usually was between trips – but he still felt the ache of missing it terribly. He visited here just as often as he visited the Bagginses, if not more so and definitely for longer periods. Elrond was a very good friend of his at this point, as were his three children and various other elves.

“What is this place?” Bilbo asked, but by the wonderment in his voice, he already knew.

“Imladris; known better by its name in Common Tongue.”

“Rivendell,” said Bilbo.

‘ _Home_ ,’ thought Harry.

“This was your plan all along,” Thorin growled, “To seek refuge with our enemy.”

“Elves are our friends,” Harry finally spoke up. He would not allow badmouthing to happen on their land. Thorin whirled on him.

“The elves will try and stop us from our journey.”

“They want dragons gone just as much as you do,” Harry reasoned.

“They will want the gold just as the Beast does now!”

“Elves have eternal life and wisdom; what do they need gold for?”

“ _Wisdom_?” a dwarf spat. “These pointy-eared snots are no greater than the worst of dwarves!”

“That is enough, Master Dori,” Gandalf warned. “They have answers that we sorely need. Stopping here is a necessary part of our quest.”

“What answers?” Harry asked, again wishing he had paid more attention the day at Bag-End. But perhaps he could help or point them in the direction of the palace they need to go. He forgot the fact that Gandalf had been here a great many times more than he ever would.

“We cannot read the map.”

Ah. So the answer would come directly from an elf. They surely wouldn’t get that with all the insults they were testing out.

The group crossed a bridge and was greeted by a tall brunette elf that Harry was glad to recognize. He received a very quizzical eyebrow at the company that surrounded him but his typical shrug was the best answer given through silent means.

“Mithrandir,” a polite bow of the head, “Ithreniol,” a shallower nod but accompanied by a smile.

“Lindir,” they greeted in turn.

“How goes these spring days?” Harry asked kindly.

“Quickly,” Lindir joked and turned to the Grey wizard.

“We heard you had crossed the Valley,” he said in Sindarin, and Gandalf nodded. He responded in plain Westron for the dwarves to understand.

“We must speak with Lord Elrond,” he motioned between the two wizards.

Lindir looked troubled. “My Lord Elrond is not here.”

Harry could then hear horns in the distance. The dwarves cried out in response to what they had been told but Harry’s body was turning, unintentionally drawn to the sound of a great arrival. He stared out behind them until horses could be seen, and upon them, elven riders.

They approached quickly and surrounded them, moving in a constant double circle. Harry grinned and nodded at the ones he recognized, choosing not to speak while their expressions were so grave. He looked to Gandalf but was surprised to see he was trying to talk down the dwarves, who had all drawn weapons and were covering Bilbo.

“Gandalf?” Harry asked in surprise. Gandalf turned his head and gave Harry a withering look and then motioned at the dwarves. But Harry held his hands up and stepped back as far as the elf-circle would allow. He would not forcefully disarm a dwarf if things could still go another way.

From the circle, one stepped forward to draw everyone’s attention. As noble as the dawning day, Lord Elrond commanded both dwarves and elves alike.

“Gandalf,” he said, “and Harry.”

Harry bowed deeply to show his respect but when he stood straight he smiled and gave a jaunty wave.

“How do you do,” said he.

“Not as great as hoped, unfortunately. Why are you here so soon?”

“Ah, that would be the work of myself, _mellon-nîn_ ,” Gandalf took over. “We were running from Orcs and your passage was near.”

“Well, that would explain the Orc troops nearer to our borders than usual. Do refrain from drawing them so close in the future, _Mithrandir_.” It was told in a jesting tone but his posture spoke of truth. He was serious when handing off an Orc blade to Lindir, who disappeared with it somewhere towards the palace. He then turned to the elves around them and told them to ready food and drink for Thorin  & Co. in elvish, which proved wrong when the dwarves took up arms again and looked as though the elves would pounce.

“What is he saying?” Glóin asked Gandalf, “Does he offer us insult?”

“No, Master Glóin, he’s offering you food.”

The dwarves hum-hummed amongst themselves and then stepped up as if in a line.

“Ah well, in that case, lead on!”

Harry walked in the company of Lord Elrond, discretely separating himself from the rest of the group. He met the eye of Gandalf when he went but was sure Bilbo would not notice any time soon.

“How have you been, Harry?”

“I’ve been quite well, though I’m sure you have noticed I was not gone for long. I had scarcely made it down to Eregion and was on my way to Hobbiton when Gandalf found me and invited me on a quest. A quest! Goodness knows I do not adventure with him, not since he had drawn me across the Anduin and into Loeg Ningloron, far too close to Mirkwood for comfort.”

“Harry,” Elrond interrupted, “I have been so curious. Why are you so set on keeping from Mirkwood?”

Harry was struck with surprise. “I…” he hesitated. The truth seemed to want to roll from his tongue. “I am afraid of it.”

“Afraid of it? Afraid of the darkness that it has become?”

“No,” Harry denied quickly, “I hold no fear for the dangers within. I know my defensive strategies have greatly improved. It is the woods itself I hold in fear.”

“The Greenwood? Why ever would that be?”

The hardest part was that Harry did not have a real reason. Yes, he had one, but it did not make any resemblance of sense and he was ashamed to admit it.

“I am afraid of what will happen when it surrounds me. I cannot help but feel as though something awaits me there.”

“Something wicked?”

Harry shut his mouth. This sounded ridiculous and was sure to make Elrond weary. He would send scouts there, or he would become certain that there was another building of a Dark Lord, but that was not what Harry meant.

“Not necessarily,” he said finally. “Just something that waits.”

Harry felt the familiar magic of Gandalf come from a corner ahead and trained his eyes on the spot he would appear.

“So how has he managed to convince you to join this quest?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Blackmail, of course. He has invited Master Bilbo to be a crucial component in the journey and I could not allow a dear friend to be unprotected in the company of a wizard and thirteen hard-headed dwarves. His survival would be questionable at best.” Gandalf arrived in the distance.

“Are you keeping your sleeping grounds warded?”

“Of course. The dwarves often hold watches, but I set out my heavy wards in the immediate area anyway. I also have Harmful Intent Wards at a fifty foot radius from those, but they are weaker. Still, we have not been subject to an attack in the night yet, so I am satisfied. Welcome, Gandalf.”

“Hello Elrond, Ithreniol. How is conversation around here?”

“Not revolving around food, thankfully” Elrond joked, and they made their way together to the feast room. The meal passed quickly and with much stress to the elves and Harry enjoyed being able to sit at a proper table and having fancy greens and an assortment of fruits that could only ever be found in Rivendell borders.

Harry was welcomed and present when they discussed the map and found the moon runes but he did not speak. This was important, he could tell, but it did not concern him. He forgot for a moment why he was travelling with this company when there was a home around him. He did not need to find another one.

Harry was to go back to the set of rooms when Gandalf broke off with Elrond for Wise Council stuff but he was neither tired nor hungry so he walked the grounds instead. Elrond had told him that Arwen was around but he could not find her, so instead he headed to the room with prophesies written on the walls. He both loved and hated the room. Love, for it was beautiful and enriching, and hate, for it was a history lesson too similar to some of his own.

“I will have to go to Greenwood,” he said to himself. It was a truth, but not a kind one. But what really feared him so? Nothing besides the ordinary growing darkness had reason to frighten him there.

But there was that waiting feeling. What awaited him there? Was it a thing or a person? Or was it an event that would change his life?

“At least I will meet King Thranduil,” he reasoned with himself, but it was not much of a consolation as he had no idea what he was like or if he was good at all.

His name being called pulled him out of his thoughts and he pulled out the hand mirror, smiling happily at the image of Neville that awaited him.

“Hello, Neville!”

“Harry,” his smile was small but genuine. But it was wavering.

“Neville? Is something the matter?”

And this worried him. It always caused great sorrow to watch his friends go through turmoil and know that he was much farther away than possible to help them.

“No, no, nothing- everything is fine. Wipe the worry from your face, mate, everything is great.”

“Then what’s got you shivering so?”

“You and your elvish grammar, Harry, I swear!” Neville laughed a little. “You could just ask me why I’m shaking like a goon and be done with it!” Harry waited patiently – a trait he had learned from Neville himself. “As it is, I have news.”

“What of?”

“It is… it is Hermione.”

Harry’s limbs straightened and his spine went stiff. _What about Hermione_?

“What about Hermione?”

“She is awake.”

Harry stood perfectly still for an elven moment but when the weight of the words grew large enough, he collapsed back onto the stone bench behind him. _Awake_.

“She… is she well?”

“I should think so!” Neville huffed a laugh. “She had scarcely more than opened her eyes when she was demanding a book. Apparently she was having the strangest of dreams while unconscious.”

“Will you tell her of the mirror?” Harry asked desperately. “And Ron - how is Ron?”

The mood turned somber again so Harry didn’t really need to hear the words spoken but he still grasped with relief at the words “no improvement” instead of “doing worse” like it had been going originally, after the final battle.

They spoke a little longer but Neville couldn’t stay, so Harry thanked him thoroughly and then wished him well. The mirror was plain again before long.

Harry stared at the murals around him without actually seeing what was drawn there. Hermione was awake. She had survived the magical coma she collapsed into after the final battle. He would be able to speak with her again.

“A friend of yours, _Istranyarla_?”

“That’s a new one,” Harry replied immediately, instinctually, before realizing just who had spoken. He fumbled hastily to his feet and gave the Lady Galadriel a deep bow with his right hand – his sword hand – held fisted against his chest, as was custom. “It is the greatest of honors to formally meet you, my Lady Galadriel. _Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo._ ” _A star shines on the hour of our meeting_. Said in the Quenya tongue: her mother language.

“Ah, bow not so low, Wanderer. I can see now how very far from home you are.”

“It is alright,” Harry rushed to reassure, “I have found myself a new one here.”

“Have you indeed? Yes, yes. It is with elves that you most belong. Tell me, how fare your friends in your old world?” She looked with interest upon the mirror and Harry fought his instinct to hide it away.

“They are doing wonderfully, my lady. My friend recovers even now despite over two years of no positive change.”

“I am glad, Istranyarla. Or is it Ithreniol that you prefer?”

Harry blushed deeply at the attention of the beautiful elf. Her long blonde hair was not tied back but flowed in a beam around her, as if she had been picked out by the moon herself even through the stone ceilings of the palace. “I am just Harry, to my friends.”

She gave him a considering glance.

“Harry, then. Harry, are you aware the friends you are travelling with have left?”

“Have they already?” Harry was indeed surprised. He thought they would wait until just before dawn, not go before midnight had even passed. “I will catch up with them.”

“Gandalf entertains the Wise Council for now. They are wizardless. Perhaps you should join them before they run into trouble?”

Harry sighed and looked around him wistfully. It would not be for a while until he saw elven architecture again, as they had to pass through the Misty Mountains and all of Mirkwood and the land that lies between them until the Domain of the Woodland Elves would be upon them. He smoothed his hand across the stone bench.

“I had better be on my way then,” he said eventually. He stood and bowed again, just as low as he had earlier.

“Do not worry so greatly over the unknown of the Greenwood, _Istranyarla_ : Wandering Wizard. You will be alright.”

“Thank you, my lady. Fare thee well.”

“Harry?” She asked, laughing lightly. “It is just Galadriel, to friends.”

XIII.

When Harry caught up early the next morning, after he had paid the kitchen elves for a deal more food for the dwarves and _lembas_ for himself, it was to Balin leading the way up to the mountains. A fierce wind was gathering.

The dwarves cheered at the arrival of one of the wizards they had left behind and Bilbo was so glad he hugged Harry tight. They travelled quietly until Gandalf caught up with them later that day. Though spirits were relatively high after an opportunity to refill stomachs and rest weary feet, the Misty Mountains loomed before them to their great worry. There were many incorrect paths that would lead them only to danger and but one that would get them safely over the mountains and to the other side. Between Gandalf and Balin, they successfully found the one that took them further up the mountain side.

Harry was not much use here, as he rarely went east of Imladris, but his sticking charms kept the dwarves from tumbling down the cliffs a fair few times. As days passed, the wind worsened and rain began to fall in heavy amounts.

“Wizard?” Thorin yelled over the wind one day when the rain came to be dangerous among the steep pathways.

“I can help! Does this path lead only one way?”

Balin nodded, not having strength enough to speak, so Harry weaved through them with his slim body and took the lead. Everyone paused as he performed a _protego_ shield that he aimed over the company and held there with his wand. The constant rainfall put strain on the shield but it held. With his free hand, Harry focused and cast a drying spell on the rocks up to fifteen feet in front of them. They walked easily with less to worry about and Harry kept up both acts: clearing away the path the way they were headed and dripping his magic into the shield to put up with the barraging rain.

They walked like this for some time and everything seemed to be going well until, as so often happens, circumstances got worse. Thunder began to roll and lightning struck down on a nearby mountain top. To everyone’s distress, that mountain began to shake and then unfolded itself into a terrible stone-giant.

And thus began the thunder-battle that shook them with sloshing rain and flying stones. Harry was still holding up the shield and even extended it down the sides so it sloped like a wide umbrella but it took more energy from him as minutes passed and it threatened to soon fall.

“We must find shelter!” He yelled to Gandalf.

“We cannot trust these caves!” He yelled back, solemn worry in his features.

“My shield won’t hold and I cannot clear off the path any longer; the rain covers it again too quickly! We-” Suddenly, the mountain they stood on began to rumble as the stone-giant it was, was awakened. “We are in too great danger! King Thorin, we have to stop moving!” The separation of arms and legs happened then which caused great rocks to come tumbling down. The largest came last and hit the _protego_ before rolling off, but the great weight finally broke the spell Harry had maintained for so long. He felt the rock’s fall as if a physical blow and bent in half when the shield disappeared.

At the same time, the legs separated the company almost perfectly in half and most were knocked back on their bottoms, Harry included. He leapt up as quickly as possible and Gandalf, who was on the rock with him and a few dwarves, did as well.

Harry is not sure what happened next. His head swam with the effort of movement and had to clutch to the rocks to stay steady, but everything kept crashing and the dwarves were yelling. He was sure they had lost a few and his heart sank at the thought. He had not done enough. What was he thinking, wasting all that energy on some silly rain? He now knew why Gandalf never bothered with it.

But what Harry couldn’t see was that it was due to the protection he had offered that the dwarves still had their energy and were jumping between the rocks to make it to the one the wizards were on. Bilbo was tossed between arms and then Gandalf was tugging, pulling on Harry’s shoulder to get him to move. Harry did, with an awful tunnel vision that made it difficult to correctly guess the leaps he needed to make, but then they were huddling into a shallow cave and collapsing on the ground as the battle waged around them.

“Explore all corners,” Gandalf was ordering, “Make sure there are no secret hideaways.” But Harry was barely listening and when a bedroll was tucked under his head, he was fast asleep.

He dreamt of rainfall and rainsong and a circle of trees made into homes, but remembered none of it when next he awoke. It was to darkness and the mysterious quiet that comes after a storm when the witness is still unsure if it truly is over. He rolled his heavy body to his back and grasped for his wand, unspeakably relieved that the friction of wet cloth had held it in the holster despite his lack of care.

He sat up and noticed that Nori, the dwarf who was supposed to be keeping watch, was asleep. It was not a huge surprise given the strain they all went through, but it still gave Harry the motivation needed to stand on legs that were weak but regaining strength and walk the length of the cave, muttering and waving his wand as he went. A ward was placed that would alert him of hostile persons and it was enough for him, so he went back to the bed roll and did not bother to change it from its position as a pillow. He fell asleep instantly.

The ward awoke him hours later and Harry reacted immediately. He shot up, energy almost fully regained and whipped out his wand to point at the growing crack on the wall. “Gandalf!” He hissed, and then realized the foolishness of it. “Wake up! Everyone ready yourselves!” Bilbo was up first and then Gandalf, who popped away immediately. The dwarves clambered to their feet and drew their weapons as Orcs came pouring out of the crack and raced towards them, chanting about their Goblin King. They put up a fight and Harry blasted away a whole section of Orcs as they approached him, which sent them screeching about there being a wizard here.

But the dwarves could not defeat them all so one by one they were captured and brought inside the crack in the wall until Thorin and Harry were left. They were outnumbered easily and apprehended as well.

They were led down and down and down into the mountain to where their King resided. The goblins screamed and laughed and sang their vicious songs about torture and death. Bilbo, who was up front with the first dwarves, was seen getting very pale the further they went on.

They at last reached the plateau on which the Great Goblin rested.

“Who are these miserable persons?” He yelled. “Thieves and murderers, I would say! Friends of elves, not unlikely!” Harry snorted at looked around at the dwarves. Not quite.

Thorin spoke grandly to the Goblin, who put up with none of it.

“We are mere dwarves, lost in the mountains!”

“Then explain to me _this_!” and a nearby Orc revealed Orcrist, Thorin’s blade.

The Great Goblin reacted in fury, jumping up and charging the dwarves as if bowling pins. He had almost reached them and Harry had drawn his wand, hardly in a position to use it well, when the lanterns and candles in the cavern all went out at once, their flames bursting into small sparks that spread and caught fire wherever they landed.

“Follow me quick!” Gandalf’s voice rang through the darkness, and they did so. Bilbo was hoisted up on Harry’s back, a weightless charm making him an easy burden, and they travelled through the various passages not knowing if they were terribly lost or close to being found. It felt endless to some of the dwarves but it felt like circles to Harry and he was not expecting it when a goblin came at him from the side and jumped on his arm. Bilbo went crashing to the ground and the weightless charm fell off of him.

“Master Harry!” Some of the dwarves cried. Kíli lifted Bilbo to his shoulders and they ran still more, Harry in the back and turning constantly to check behind them. They stopped quickly at a crossroads to catch their breath but did not waste too much time before heading off again.

It seemed to be ages that they were running, Bilbo being tossed between them as if a sack of flour and Orcs following their path and cutting them off from ahead. A day or more must have been spent in those tunnels without words being exchanged until the company reached the back gates and barreled through them, killing most of the Orcs that stood guard. When they tried to close the great door, Harry _bombarda maxima_ -ed the stone and then _reparo_ -ed it once passed. He placed a locking spell for good measure.

The collected themselves a little passed the gate, at a near group of trees. Gandalf counted them off, making sure all dwarves had survived the trip, before going quiet and looking around in worry.

“Where is our burglar?”

“Bilbo?” Harry asked. He stood straight up and looked around and behind all dwarves for in case little Bilbo simply couldn’t be seen. “Bilbo!”

Harry had come only for the hobbit. And now he’d failed him.

“We have to go back,” he declared. He would not take no for an answer.

“There’s no way the poor lad is still alive,” Bofur denied.

“We won’t know that unless we check.”

“We just got out!” one dwarf said.

“He’s been more trouble than he’s worth – I’ll tell you that,” said another.

“If you all will not go with me, I will very well venture back in myself.” Harry glared at their disloyalty and took up his bag. There were not many that survived, and his was the only one left with an expansion charm so Harry was sure to focus on his core and sever all other expansion charms he had placed. He did not want goblins to have use of his magic in any way. He felt his magic relax a little when he did this. “I have the means to disguise myself.”

“You cannot go back there! They will kill you!”

“All this for a burglar? You could very well do the same as him, I’d wager.”

Harry felt his ire growing and it was clear that Gandalf felt the same as the Grey Wizard began to speak angrily.

“I brought him, and I don’t bring things that are of no use. Either you help me and Ithreniol when we go back in to find him or we leave you to get out of your mess best you can.”

“I did not come for you,” Harry snuck in, speaking of course to the ungrateful dwarves.

“If we can only find him again, you will thank me before all is over.”

Some of the dwarves muttered angrily, some came forth declaring a commitment to Bilbo, when there came suddenly a sound and appearance of a hobbit.

“Here I am!” Bilbo said.

“Bilbo!”

“Master Burglar!”

“Hobbit!”

Harry ran forward to give him a hug, cursing himself for not placing a ward when they rested. Surely the Orcs could have broken the locking spell by then and they could have been chasing after them, if Bilbo was able to creep up so well, quiet hobbit feet or not.

They started again on their journey now that everyone was there and Bilbo had quite the tale about a creature named Gollum and clever riddles in the dark. Harry listened intently and watched the dwarves as their respect for him grew higher. Harry did not pay attention to Gandalf until he was pulled to the side with him.

“Do you believe his story?” Gandalf whispered.

“I don’t see what there is not to believe?” Harry responded, knowing that if Gandalf was asking him, he had his suspicions and reasons for them.

“He was able to slip out the back door and creep close despite Balin’s watchful eye? I fear there is something he is not telling us.”

“Would you like me to find it out?” Harry offered, but Gandalf withdrew and shook his head, eyebrows near covering his grey eyes.

“No, no… we will see how this plays out.”

And so they continued further, dodging rock slides and finishing their descent down the eastern edges of the Misty Mountains. It was not preferable, how they got through the mountains, but it certainly got the job done. They did not stop for a meal but Harry passed around the food he had in his bag, revealing the expandable charm he had placed on it. He nibbled his lembas bread sparingly. They had almost reached the bottom when great howls rose from behind them. They all looked back in surprise, which morphed quickly into fear.

“Wargs! Run!”

They ran to the trees and climbed in them, Bilbo being pulled up just in time. Harry and Gandalf were far separated, but it took only a glance for them to realize they had the same plan forming in their minds. Harry was on a tree closest to the Wargs and Warg Riders while Gandalf was way back near the edge of the cliff they were on.

The Wargs surrounded the trees they were on and from the back of the wolves one came forth bearing a familiar rider.

“Azog?” Thorin breathed, not believing it.

The Wargs then attacked, trying their best to climb the trees despite not having the ability. Harry and Gandalf decided then to put their plan into motion. They both pulled pinecones from their trees and lit them with their respective spells. They threw them at the Orcs and Wargs who, as they were afraid of fire or any kind of light, went scrambling backwards.

That began a resistance. Harry and Gandalf lit pinecones and the others threw them down, setting the grass below them ablaze. While it kept the enemies away, it had the unfortunate side effect of making the flames creep close to the trees they were in.

They were forced to move back to avoid the fire, leaping between trees until they were all on the last one, forcing too much weight on the branches. Harry looked fearfully at the cliff. Weightless charms did not actually make someone weigh less, but instead just gave the perception of holding less weight. They would not help them here. The tree uprooted.

“Gandalf!” some dwarves were shouting.

“Harry!” cried others.

“Thorin!” yelled most, once they realized he had stood and was walking towards Azog with cold hatred on his face.

“Bilbo,” whispered Harry as he watched him follow the dwarf.

There was a vicious, unrelenting battle there. Thorin tried to defend his company and to serve justice in the memory of his father and grandfather, but Azog and his Warg were too powerful for a dwarf that had spent the last three days in a constant emotional and physical fight. He was soon bested.

The Warg’s jaws went to surround Thorin’s torso and Harry grunted. He was hanging off of the tree with both arms wrapped around a branch. He carefully removed his right arm and reached for his wand, casting a weightless charm on himself. While it was true that it didn’t actually make him weigh less, it tricked his mind into thinking he had more energy than he did. Eventually, his arm would collapse from the strain placed on muscles that he could not monitor and he would slip from the tree, falling into the depths below.

But before that would happen, there was a dwarf-king that needed help.

Harry cast a body shield on Thorin and blasted the Warg away just before it could reach him. He then cast a slicing hex on Azog, successfully drawing his attention. The Orc growled and directed other Wargs his way. Harry could hear eagles in the distance.

More blasting charms kept the Wargs from reaching him and distracted the Orc enough for Bilbo to reach Thorin, not exactly what Harry wanted. Harry helped Bilbo from afar when another fight began over Thorin’s gravely injured body, when Harry felt his arm go lax and he fell straight from the tree towards the ground far below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Thranduil <3


	3. The Middle: XIV. - XVI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Here is where I force you to read my fancy words about stars. Here is also where my inner linguist comes out. I have taken a great deal of time and care to make sure my elvish is correct, but if you notice something is wrong, please tell me so!

XIV.

They all got out alive.

It was a miracle: that was for sure.

The eagles caught him straight out of the air as he was falling and then went back for the dwarves, gathering them in their talons or catching them on their backs as they fell from the tree. Away they flew, far from Azog the Defiler and the dangers of the Misty Mountains.

They took them to the Carrock, where they rested and regained their breath. None were in good shape to travel further, especially not Thorin, but they were given only a night before they hopped back on the eagles and were headed further in their journey – much faster than they had so far. It was there in the air that Harry had a delightful surprise.

“Fawkes!” He cried happily. Gandalf’s head lifted in surprise. Together, along with curious dwarves (or at least the ones that didn’t have their eyes squeezed shut), they watched a glorious firebird emerge from their left. Harry’s eyes were full of love. “How have you been doing, Fawkes? Not met your Burning Day yet, I can see.”

Fawkes was looking older than Gandalf had ever seen him but still flew with the grace of an immortal phoenix. He had left Harry a few months before to fly with the eagles until his Burning Day, which would likely be approaching within the next year, and Harry had near forgotten about him until now. Fawkes sent him images of the sights he’d seen along with the feeling of flying and Harry smiled and sunk closer into the feathers of the eagle he was on.

“Yeah,” he sighed happily, feeling the world move around him.

They went further, the dwarves not able to ask their questions about the firebird, before the eagles circled down and let them off on a giant rock. They climbed down and thanked the eagles gratefully, with Thorin and Co. declaring that they were forever in their service.

“Goodbye, Fawkes,” Harry said sadly, grateful for being able to see one of his greatest friends even if only for a while. But Fawkes trilled and landed himself on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll stay?” He asked. An image flashed through his mind. “Of course! Of course you may rest as long as you’d like – I would be glad to carry you.” With that, Fawkes bowed his head and slept.

They travelled further and Harry tried his very best not to jostle the phoenix, by either movement or speaking too loudly. Actually, he did not speak at all and let the questions fall around him, unanswered.

Gandalf was willing to answer the basic ones: what the bird was and how Harry knew it – but he would not tell anything personal, for which Harry was most grateful. By the end of that day, though, there were new questions regarding the next leg of their journey and the bird did not matter so much.

“I must be leaving soon,” Gandalf announced. “Indeed, I never meant to come so far in the first place. I have other, pressing business to attend to.”

There was outrage from everyone, even Harry, who did not realize Gandalf would be leaving him alone, surrounded by dwarves.

“I will stay for a few days more, but then I must go. For now, I can get you all to somebody that I know who will hopefully provide shelter and food.”

“Hopefully?”

“Yes. He will either do that or he will kill us all. It’s mostly a matter of when we catch him, you see.”

“Gandalf,” Harry groaned, digging the meat of his palms into his closed eyelids.

And that is what led to them running through the fields and the trees, desperately and for their lives. A giant bear was behind them (who apparently was the Someone that Gandalf meant – and he certainly wasn’t offering food). Gandalf led them around trees and to a large house, which they slid into and fastened the lock on the door. Fawkes was clutched tightly in Harry’s arms. The growls faded with time.

“What was that?!”

“That was our host,” Gandalf said calmly.

“Gandalf,” Harry gasped for breath, “I’m sorry… are we currently holding base in that bear’s house? Have we just forcefully taken the shelter we’d hoped he would offer? Doesn’t that seem just a bit _wrong_ to you??”

“Do be calm, Ithreniol.  Beorn will come to his senses in the morning. For now, it is time to rest.”

“ _Beorn_?” Harry recognized the name. “Your skin-changer friend?”

“Ah, so you admit he is my friend!”

“I- what- no! You don’t have friends!” This was an old argument and Harry had almost forgotten it existed, but he still refused to let the old man win.

“To bed, now. We will likely have to reason with him tomorrow morning, when he is a Man again. To bed, to bed!”

The dwarves went off to a room to sleep and took Bilbo with them. But Harry could not be commanded by Gandalf, and so he stayed up and sat with him by a small fire. He placed Fawkes as near to the flames as possible without being on them and the bird curled up, still tired from the journey. They were silent for a long moment.

“Where must you go?”

“Away,” Gandalf answered instinctually. Harry’s withering glare made him wince and realize his mistake. There was no use in keeping secrets from Harry, as he was not as innocent or unknowing as the other company. “There are dark forces gathering in Dol Guldur. The Necromancer threatens to rise again. I must meet with the White Council and attempt an attack to keep him at bay, at least for a while longer.”

This was terrible news and Harry knew it.

“Is there any way I can help? I have magic too! Even if I cannot perform the necessary spells,” for there was a great difference between his magic and that of Gandalf’s, “I at least have a magical supply that anyone could leech off of!”

“Ah, and that is where the problem lies,” Gandalf sighed. “You are strong and the magic you wield is great. If Sauron were to forcefully connect to you and use your magic, I fear it would be more than we could fight.”

“I would not let him take control of my mind!” Harry thought angrily to the many times he had been possessed. He would not allow it to happen again; his constant upkeep with legilimancy would see to that.

“I know that. There is another reason I will be going alone, and that is that I need you here. I fear there will be great danger in Mirkwood and I would feel better if you were with them as they went.” Harry’s mouth screwed up at the mention of the woods they were so near to. But it was not so much the fear he felt anymore, but the anticipation.

“Will you at least take Fawkes?” He asked at last. “And flash away with him if you are in trouble?”

“No, I could not. You might need Fawkes far more than I would, and I would not leave when my fellow councilmembers are in danger.” That was a noble answer and Harry knew it, so he bowed his head in quiet defeat.

“When will you leave then?”

“After we leave here. Right before we cross into Mirkwood, I believe.”

“I will protect them,” Harry vowed.

“I never doubted you would.”

They sat quietly for a few moments more, listening to the scuffling of a bear outside the building, before Harry retired to the room where everyone was sleeping. He was not sure if Gandalf ever did the same.

Harry awoke with the dawn, because it was with the dawn that a tall man entered the cottage. He was Beorn, Harry knew immediately. The feel of the man was too Wild and similar to the bear from the night before to be anyone else. The feel of it reminded Harry of Remus.

Bilbo woke up for a moment and looked at Beorn with wide eyes, but they closed soon after, too overcome with fatigue to worry about safety. Harry stood when he heard voices conversing the next room over. He joined them.

“Good morning, Ithreniol,” Gandalf greeted kindly, mindful of the quiet environment.

“And to you, Gandalf. Hello,” Harry bowed to the talk man who, really, was encroaching on seven feet, he was so tall. Elrond was like 6’4” because he was a High Elf but this was something new entirely. “My name is Harry; how do you do?”

“Beorn,” the man said back. “You are the Wandering Wizard?”

“And you are the Skin-Changer,” Harry nodded.

“Gandalf has mentioned you.”

“Has he really?” Harry looked upon them with interest. Thus began a long conversation between the three of them that ended only when the dwarves began stirring.

They rested there for two days and Harry and Beorn grew close. By the end, Harry felt he could call the other a friend. But they had to keep moving, as Durin’s Day grew closer with every rise and fall of the sun, so they gratefully accepted the temporary help of Beorn’s horse friends and set off to finally cross into the Mirkwood for real.

Harry offered again for Fawkes to stay behind with the animal-loving shifter, but the phoenix (who was now back up to regular health but still showed the strain of age) refused such an offer. He gave the vague impression that Harry might need him yet, but Harry hoped it wouldn’t be so.

They travelled quickly but it still took three days until they reached the forest’s edge. In that time, Harry explained what a phoenix was and warned the company very seriously not to harm him, lest wrath fall before them. The wrath he spoke of sounded like an ancient power, but it truthfully would be Harry, who would defend to the death the life of Fawkes, who might be attacked by a dwarf in rabid hunger. Beorn was present each night in his bear form, but Harry did not delude himself: Beorn was there to look after his horses, nothing more.

And then they were at the forest’s edge. Harry had carefully expanded four more bags while they stayed at Beorn’s home and four of the dwarves held them, but even with them it would be a stretch to ration their food enough to get them to the other side.

“This is where I leave you,” Gandalf announced. Everyone started throwing around farewells. “Be careful in the forest; this is not the Greenwood of old. Do not stray from the path under any circumstance! Be safe! Do not enter the mountain without me!” And then he rode off, just like that.

“Well,” Harry said.

“Now what?” Bofur asked.

“Now we go on,” Harry declared. He hopped off of his horse and the others followed him. They took their bags from the horses and they ran back as one in the direction that they came – far away from Mirkwood and its evils. “We stick together. Come on.”

The entrance to the forest path was something of an arch and made of two trees bent together. Bilbo thought it looked ominous and Harry was inclined to agree with him. They took their first steps in, Harry at the lead, and each shuddered in turn. Harry felt as though there was something waiting, watching, but could not tell if it was good or evil. The further they went, the darker it became, until they were trudging through with one hand gripping the bags of the person in front of them. Harry had a little ball of light, as bright as he dared to make it, floating in front of his feet to keep an eye on the trail, but the light seemed to be swallowed by the air so it did not spread more than two feet in every direction.

They walked slowly through the woods for days until they all felt they were getting nowhere, at which point their speed was greatly amped. It was near impossible to see anything, but eyes surrounded them during night when they tried to sleep. Harry placed many more wards than usual and only seemed to increase in the number of them as they went further.

They had quite the feat trying to get over a large black river, but they had done it and were getting closer and closer to the middle of the forest when they felt as though they would collapse if they went any further. Harry made their bags lighter with spells, connecting them all with his magical core despite the strain he knew it would give him, and they were able to keep going. Harry took no food despite holding the bag most filled with it; instead he passed it all out, trying to keep rations low, and bit his lembas bread as slowly as possible, hoping it would fill him up more. It kept him going and it was nutritious but the lack of physical food in his stomach was becoming quite apparent, judging by his protruding ribs.

Overall, it was miserable. But it did not prove to be overly dangerous.

Until the spiders.

They had been travelling for weeks and must have been approaching the last stretch of land when they sent Bilbo up the trees to check. He should have been able to see the edges of the forest, if they really were near. But while he was up above, the group was surrounded by large spiders – the ones that Radagast mentioned.

“Draw your weapons!” Thorin yelled, but they had few weapons that survived the entire journey up to that point so they were at a severe disadvantage. Harry killed two spiders right away, not bothering with low-level spells, by casting a _sectumsempra_ at one and a _confringo_ at the other. _Incendio_ was used to scare away a whole group at once.

“Harry!” Some of the dwarves screamed, scared. The spiders were beginning to wrap them up and some were collapsed on the ground after being stabbed by their immobilizing poison.

That gave him an idea.

“ _Immobulous!_ ” he casted at the spiders around them. “ _Lumos maxima_!” had them scurrying away from the light and blinding everyone. “ _Protego maxima! Foliorum impetum!_ Fawkes!”

The last yell was not a spell, nor was it a cry for help. It was a scream of panic. As Fawkes’ Burning Day came noticeably nearer, Fawkes took to staying in Harry’s bag for warmth and safety. But as the spiders overwhelmed them, Fawkes flew out of the bag, the picture of bravery and light, and sang an uplifting tune that had the unconscious dwarves awaking and all of them resume their struggling in their bonds. Bilbo was still above the tree tops.

As Fawkes finished his song, he flew low to the ground. He was unsteady, wobbling on wings that refused to bend how they used to. Just before he made it to Harry’s waiting arms, he burst into sudden flames and was reduced to a pile of ash on the forest floor.

The fight went on around Harry, but his heart was not in it. He cast a strong shield around the pile of ashes and a notice-me-not on both it and him and then threw curses on the arachnids, trying to pull up his old hatred for Aragog. But his mind was on the ashes behind him and the lack of phoenix emerging from it. When more spiders arrived and the company was overwhelmed, Harry stayed silent and stopped casting. He could not allow himself to be captured as it would lead him away from his dear friend. They dragged off the thirteen bodies quickly.

When Bilbo came down, it was to confusion and worry. He shouted the names of the company but no one was responding, and when he saw the webs he realized what had gone on. Harry stayed quiet. He casted a quick point-me spell on a few members of the company and his wand always pointed him the same way, so he placed a mild _confundus_ on Bilbo and gave him the idea to begin in that direction. He then cancelled the spell. Bilbo left the area.

Harry stayed crouched by the ashes for a good long while. It was at least an hour that he stayed there unmoving until he got his head back on straight and realized that he couldn’t stay like this. Not only was he easy prey to a predator that might be waiting to attack, but he had promised to Gandalf that he would look after the company and that was exactly what he wasn’t doing. So Harry sadly removed the last of the lembas from his bag and moved it to another, and then he levitated the pile of ashes into the bag to rest. He stood shakily.

A point-me spell had him following Bilbo’s trail and it was thanks to the notice-me-not charm that made elven eyes roll over him when he caught sight of them between the trees. He froze. They must be close to the Woodland Realm!

The elves were surrounding many bodies that Harry quickly identified as the dwarves. He was relieved to find that all thirteen were there and all looked to be in relatively good condition. But where was Bilbo? Another point-me had him looking behind the group and moving in different angles but they always pointed to the same spot, moving just behind the elves and dwarves. Was he invisible? Was that possible?

They were led to a two beautiful, large stone doors that stood as a gate and Harry did not go near them, staying back in the trees. But he knew that Bilbo managed to get through and wished them all the best of luck. He backtracked and took the spells off of him.

It appeared he would be meeting the Elvenking.

XV.

He waited a while longer – thirty minutes, perhaps – both in hopes that Fawkes would be better before putting himself in a dangerous position and to not cause suspicion before he even passed the gates. Finally, he approached the bridge that led up to Mirkwood and was spoken to.

“ _Na-ennas man_?” _Who is there_?

“ _I eneth nîn Ithreniol. Im an_ _í_ _r p_ _ê_ _d na i_ _âr.” My name is Ithreniol. I wish to speak with the king._

“ _Ithreniol?_ ” They two elves with arrows pointed at him relaxed their limbs and discussed quietly. “Come forth.” Harry crossed the bridge slowly as they opened the gates. He was treated as a guest (meaning he was not held at weapon-point or tied up) but they were still very much acting as guards the whole way until they reached the throne room.

But Harry was not paying attention. He was surrounded by trees and roots and hanging lanterns and he was utterly bewitched. There were bridges stretching over the numerous gaps and stone platforms going up further than Harry could tell. The sun peeked through various openings but the further back they went, the deeper into a cave they appeared to be.

It might not have been as beautiful as Imladris, but it filled Harry with emotion in the way Imladris never had.

Harry could tell when they reached the throne room by the large doors that defended it. They were opened and he was gifted with his first look at the Elvenking Thranduil. Harry had been weary before when hearing of how he had not given the dwarves any aid and all of that came back as he examined the tall, self-confident, and relaxed figure on the throne.

“My lord,” the elves on either side of him bowed and Harry was motioned forward. They stayed near the door and there were two more guards near the throne but they were the only ones in here other than the wizard and the king. Harry went closer and bowed deeply before the throne.

“You are no Man,” the Elvenking said.

“No, my lord. My name is Harry, but I am perhaps better known to you as Ithreniol.”

“The sixth wizard. I can feel the magic in you.”

“You honor me, my lord.”

“Please, rise.” Harry unbent himself from his position and made eye contact with the king. His eyes were a light blue, like the sky. “What brings you to my halls?”

Harry hesitated. Honesty was the best policy, right?

“I am travelling with the company of dwarves, my lord,” anger flashed through blue eyes, “and it appears they have gotten themselves into trouble, as they are wont to do.”

“Do you judge them?”

“Quite often, if I am being serious. I greatly prefer the company of elves.” Flattery always worked.

“Then why do you travel with them?”

“As a favor for a friend. He had to leave so I was requested to help them in a hike through the Greenwood. I have never been this far east before, my lord, and I was eager at a chance to meet you.”

“Well then,” King Thranduil opened his arms wide, “Welcome to the Woodland Realm. You may call me Thranduil.” Harry dipped his head in an echo of a bow.

“My friends know me as Harry, and I should like to count you among them. Now, if I may ask, are the dwarves in your dungeons? I would not expect them to be counted as guests – I know just how rude they can be towards elves – but I at least would like to know they are well. It would weigh better on my conscience.” Harry smiled crookedly and was relieved to see that Thranduil was not angry.

“Yes, and in separate cells, too. But do not worry, for they are being fed and watered and have excellent company in the form of my elves,” he gave a sharp smile and Harry felt his own wide one take control of his lips. “But you are no dwarf. Meluiron can show you to a room in the guest’s quarters and I invite you to stay until the dwarves feel ready to talk. We feast in the Greenwood for dinner – I will find you when we do.”

“You are most generous, King Thranduil. _Le hannon_.”

Harry went away with the red-haired elf, as many of the elves here seemed to be, along beautiful passageways that had openings to the outside that were cleverly hidden, if Harry did not see any when he was waiting to approach the gate. He was shown to a room that was round and had branches growing up the walls and there were autumn leaves spread on the floor, though he did not know where they had come from. The fading sunlight could be seen through a hole at the very top of the room. It was stunning and he made sure to say so.

Then Harry was left alone. It was close to dinner time, that he could tell, so he decided not to try and find Bilbo just yet. Later tonight or the next day would be better. He would still be under watch though, so tonight wasn’t the greatest idea.

Harry sighed. That was enough thinking for today. For now, he could relax.

He lifted his various bags from his body and set them down on the small stone table provided to him. He took the one filled with ashes off last and looked upon it with hope when opening, but felt kicked in the stomach when he saw no movement. Another levitation spell moved the pile onto the table and there he watched it carefully until a knock sounded at the door much later.

Harry startled up, cast a few quick refreshing and cleaning charms on his way to the door, and then opened it to the sight of Thranduil. He seemed to be one of the only ones with the distinctive light blonde hair in Mirkwood; though Harry knew there were more in Lothlórien.

“Hello again,” Harry greeted.

“ _Suilad,_ Harry. How do you like your room?”

“It is beautiful Thranduil, truly. I could never thank you enough for your hospitality.”

“It is an honor to host a wizard for the first time in so long. Your kind does not often, ah,” he fell into an awkward silence (for Harry at least) as he stared at something to his right. “What is that?”

It was not said in disgust, which Harry appreciated more than he could say, since he knew right away what Thranduil was referring to.

“A pile of ashes, my lord. Put there by myself, not any of your servants, I assure you.” And Harry knew that look on his face, recognized it from years of being around polite scholars, and bit back a smile. Thranduil wanted to ask more but would not lower himself to do so. “It was a bird, just this morning.”

“A bird!” Thranduil cried. “What happened to it?” But his mind was ever-running and he answered himself before Harry ever could. Though Wood-elves are told not to be as smart as the Western-elves, they are still a great deal wiser than most men. “Mithrandir mentioned a strange bird that often keeps around you, the last time he was here to visit. I don’t suppose these are related?”

Harry stepped back. “Would you like to come in, for a moment?” He asked the Elvenking, who stepped into the room like he was a visitor and not like he ruled the whole kingdom. Harry walked towards the ashes and gestured to it. “His name is Fawkes and he is a phoenix. He is an immortal bird in every sense: he cannot die of age or sickness and being killed only triggers a Burning Day, which happens every eight to ten years anyway, at least back where I’m from. But since arriving here nearly one hundred and twenty years ago, he has not burned even once.”

Harry gazed sadly at the ashes and drew his finger along the stone table, wishing it was brilliant red and gold feathers. “He has been looking old for months, so he left to spend his hardest days with the Lord of the Eagles, but when we met again a few weeks ago, he rejoined me. I thought there would be another few months until he burned, but this morning with the spiders proved,” he hesitated, “too stressful for him. He burned there in the forest and has not yet been reborn.”

“How long does it take for him to be reborn?”

“Normally? A few minutes at least, up to maybe a half hour or so. But that was back where I came from, and time runs very differently here.”

“When do you think he will return?”

“I don’t know. Within the next hour or two, I hope.” _If he comes back at all_. Because that was what was worrying him. Fawkes had not burned here yet, and Harry worried that it might not work the same as on Earth.

“Well, the dinner feast will soon begin. Perhaps your Fawkes will be back by the time you return?”

“Ah, that is where the problem lies. My heart dares not leave him, so I have been carrying his ashes with me in my bag, waiting. I would hate to bring a bag with me to dinner, but I will not leave him here.” Thranduil stared at him and the unwavering set of his eyes.

“It is lucky, then, that bags are very much acceptable wear during a feast.”

Harry smiled at him most beatifically. His wand was out of his holster in seconds and pointed at the ashes. “ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” he whispered. The pile of ashes floated a few inches into the air when suddenly it all began to fall to the ground, vanishing into nothing when they reached the wood. The display revealed a small bird still being held by the levitation charm. “Fawkes!” Harry cried, overcome with emotion. He dropped his wand clean to the floor and caught Fawkes in the air, bringing him close to his chest and his forehead, as he bent it forward. “I was so worried,” he whispered, meant only for the ears of the phoenix.

Fawkes was indeed small, smaller than he had been in a very, very long time. His feathers had not yet gained the brilliant colors he was known for and instead were a soft grey, with hints of a pinkish-red underneath. His eyes were closed, likely not to open for many days.

Harry could have cried, he was so happy to see him.

“I’m ready, Thranduil,” he said to distract from the emotion. He tucked the bird into the space between his shoulder and his neck, forgoing the bag with the new development.

“Of course. Follow me.”

They made their way through the halls of the cave to the outside, where they were joined by many other elves to parade to a table in the woods, placed there and enchanted to move by ancient elven magic. Harry sat to the right of the king but one space down, with the king’s son Legolas between them. Across from Legolas was Tauriel, a captain of the guard.

They had plenty of food and drink but Harry tried not to seem too eager. It had been so long since he’s had anything but lembas but eating too much now would not do good things to his stomach. He received many curious questions and while none were asked by the nobles, he could tell they were listening in just as closely. The Rivendell elves had seen his presence for so long a while that they had tricked themselves into thinking they knew all there was to know about him so it had been awhile since Harry had so many questions at once.

They revolved mostly around his magic because it was something they all knew he had. They revolved also around the existence of Fawkes, who did little more that scuffle around on Harry’s shoulder through the meal. Harry was glad to answer for both topics as they were both safe, so the elves found themselves learning more about expansion charms and fire travel.

“He is still much too small to flame anywhere, of course. I would say another week or so, when his red feathers come in, that’s when you’ll see him flame.”

“What else can he do?”

“Besides be immortal and provide travel?” Harry laughed. “Fawkes is very good at song, and his positive trills can give anyone hope or happiness. In fact, his trills are good at swaying emotion in general.” Harry grew sad as a memory formed behind his eyes. He gave a bent little smile, eyes downcast, but was determined not to let emotion overcome him. “He once sang a lament, after a very close friend of his was killed. There was not a dry eye in the whole castle.”

“We would be honored to hear a song of his when he is better,” Prince Legolas said after a moment too long had passed.

“Well, you will have to ask him then! I am not his master, only a friend, and I cannot control what he does.”

Harry also told them about Fawkes’ ability to carry heavy load but said nothing about his greatest and most abused power, which is that of healing tears. Harry had never needed them for the time he has been on Middle-Earth and if all went well, he never would. They did not need to know this.

The elves laughed and sang their songs of food and drink and cheer and then it was over and Harry was headed back to his room with another elf as a guide. He thanked them whole-heartedly and then closed the door and collapsed gratefully on the bed. He looked straight up to the hole where the sun shone through a few hours early and saw stars, millions of them, spread across the sky for all to admire. He fell into a deep and comfortable sleep.

He awoke the next morning to a knock on the door and the knowledge that Thranduil wants him shown around until he can get the feel of the kingdom. It was a kind thought and Harry was eager to walk with the various elves between meals, being led up and down passageways and through the trees nearby in the forest, where most homes were settled up in the branches. He was enthralled by all of it but the niggling thought of _where’s Bilbo_ kept reappearing in the back of his mind, so a few hours before dinner he asked for some time alone and was glad when it was granted. He strolled through the halls until he found a short one that was unoccupied, where he pulled out his wand and whispered a point-me for Bilbo Baggins.

The wand spun in twenty quick circles over his palm until it was directed due east. Harry followed the path for many minutes, plucking his wand from the air when elves were near and replacing it after they were gone, until he found where the wand continued to point back to.

A pantry. Where else would a hobbit be?

Harry opened the door slowly and looked in. “Bilbo?” he whispered, even though he could see no figure there.

“Harry?” a voice came.

“Are you there?”

“I’m here, Harry.”

“I have a room here, follow me. Close the door behind you!” and then he went back the way he came, getting lost only once before backtracking and finding his room. He heard Bilbo enter behind him. He became visible.

“Harry,” he breathed, relieved at the sight of his friend.

“I was worried about you,” Harry confessed, giving Bilbo a hug. “Have you found the dwarves?”

“No, I don’t know where they’re being held.”

“The dungeons, I know for certain. I know vaguely how to get there because they showed me the hall that leads down to it, but once past that hall, I cannot help you.”

“I will go down and free them,” Bilbo nodded, jaw set. Harry’s heart remembered its fondness for the little hobbit and warmed at the sight.

“Be careful not to be seen. I do not know how you are staying invisible but it does not feel safe to me. Will you allow me to cast a notice-me-not on you? It will make even elven eyes avoid your form.” There was a great moment of hesitation there, but Bilbo finally agreed. “Very good. Have you eaten?”

“I have been sneaking food from plates and pantries when I could,” he looked very embarrassed but Harry was only amused. “I suppose I should apologize for that.”

“There’s no way for you to do it now without revealing yourself. I am afraid I shall not be a part of your rescuing efforts, as I am watched by elves all over the kingdom. If you can remember your way here, come after dinner and I will have food. Does this all make sense?”

“Yes, Harry.”

Harry stared at Bilbo for a second before smiling. “Good,” he said, and then he hugged him. “I will show you to the dungeon hall now. Look at me.”

Harry cast the spell and watched Bilbo get blurry before his eyes. He nodded and gestured for him to follow and led him out of the room and to the hall where they parted with only a whisper of “ _good luck_.” Harry was back in his room by the time dinner came around again.

“So, Ithreniol,” Thranduil began at the tables that evening, swirling his wine around in his glass.

“Yes, my lord?” He hoped he knew nothing of Bilbo.

“I have noticed you do not wield a staff. Why is that?”

“Ah,” Harry took a sip of his own wine to clear his mouth, “That would be because I wield a wand instead.” Many elves at the high table where they were sitting darted their eyes to him. “It is something like a staff, but is smaller and easier to conceal. Not to mention its insignificant appearance.”

As he spoke, he withdrew his wand and held it at its side, offering it to the Elvenking for inspection. Elves could not use his wand, despite the best efforts of Elladan and Elrohir.

“Each wand made is different. Mine is made from the wood of a holly tree with the core being a phoenix tail feather. Fawkes’ tail feather, as it is. It is shaped for me, responds only to me, and I take great care to look after it well.”

“And its carrier on your arm?”

“You mean my holster,” Harry stated. He held out his left forearm for reference and pulled back the loose sleeve over it. Everyone was confused to see nothing there. “Could I see my wand, please?” It was handed to him. He slid it back into place and then the wand disappeared as well. There were cries of surprise and alarm.

But Harry was laughing. He unclipped the holster from the back and it fell off of his forearm and into his waiting hand, where it suddenly became visible. He passed that around for others to see as well.

“It is enchanted to be invisible when on to make it harder to steal. It has served me well.”

“It is so worn,” one elf muttered, and then went a bright red in the face as she realized what she had said. “I’m sorry-!”

“Do not worry!” Harry laughed again. He has missed elves. “It has served me well, that is true, but perhaps for too long. It is high time I find myself a new one, and as soon as I get back to Imladris, I will buy another. You said nothing but the truth.”

Dinner ended with Harry’s refusal to sing, claiming his voice to be that of nightmares, though in less potent words. He had one small pocket self-sewn into his trousers but enchanted with an expansion charm and there he slid two rolls and a fruit with a hard enough outer core that it wouldn’t be squished. He had them ready for Bilbo when he came by that night.

The next day passed in much the same fashion and the one after that differed slightly after lunch, when Thranduil found him on a walk with Fawkes. The bird has been gaining his more mature feathers and the baby down feathers had begun to fall out, but he was still a long while from being an independent bird again. Harry had a few of the elves’ help with feeding him after meals.

At that point in time, they were walking just along the inside of the cave entrance, trying to get the most out of the sun while also avoiding the air outside as it grew steadily colder with the change in seasons. Thranduil came around a corner and Harry bowed when he saw him.

“You bow quite frequently,” Thranduil stated.

“Ah, yes; that has been pointed out to me before.” Harry held Fawkes closer to the windows, not caring how strange it may look. “There was a point in my life when I would not have bowed to anyone, but since my time here I have realized that it is not a show of subservience, but one of respect. I respect you and your position, and therefore I bow.”

“But you do not serve me?”

“No. You may be a great king and the elves here may serve you gladly, but I have no king. I offer my services freely and with a humble request for shelter in turn, but I will not stand in as a magical offense to anyone.”

Thranduil looked insulted. “I would never ask you to do such a thing-”

“I know. My position is just to make sure. I meant nothing specifically towards you.” Harry felt a little bad at the clear misunderstanding that was occurring and sought to fix it. “I have been used before, Thranduil, and it did not feel pleasant. I am the Wandering Wizard, and it is that which I will remain. I am bound to no one king, though I certainly have my preferences.” He smirked a little there and was pleased to see Thranduil stand down on his guard.

“Walk with me?” he requested, and Harry gladly accepted. They strolled through the halls and to various passageways further back than Harry was invited to explore. “Tell me, Harry: you continue to speak of a time before this one; a world before you came to ours. I am curious as to what you mean.”

“That is a story that is not widely spread, and I should like it to remain thus.”

Thranduil took that answer with silence, leading them further before stopping at a door no different than any other except for what lied beyond it.

“These are my personal rooms, and this is the one used for sitting and entertaining. If you should like, we will not be disturbed here.” Harry processed the words and then nodded.

“Lord Elrond knows most of the story, and as do the Istari, but it is only Gandalf who was with me when I arrived and who knows nearly all of it. But even him I kept my secrets from.” They entered the room. It was wide and filled with wooden seats that came naturally from the tree-walls. There were silver decorations and tables and Harry figured most of the items in this room had monetary worth.

“You arrived here?”

“Yes; nearly one hundred and twenty years ago, as I said earlier. There was no big buildup. I was in my world and then suddenly I was not. I was born in a world called Earth, and it was filled with Men and Wizards. There were plenty of other creatures too, but no elves and no dwarves. I was raised by humans but was a wizard myself, and when I reached eleven years old, I went to a school for people like me.

“I met my friends there and had a fair few adventures and there was a war when I was seventeen, which is maturity for us. A few days after the final battle I was walking to a meeting in a stone room, and then found myself walking on grass in a different world entirely. I met Gandalf that night when he found me struggling through the woods, not sure what was safe to eat and what wasn’t. He took me under his wing, so to speak, and together we went to Rivendell, where I learned about the history of Arda and the languages of its people. I tried to get home but nothing worked, so here I stayed.”

“You mentioned there was a time difference? How would you know?”

“Well, I,” Harry patted his trusty bag near his hip, “I have a magical mirror that allows me to keep up contact with my friends back home. It has only been two and a half years for them.”

“Fascinating,” Thranduil breathed.

“Fascinating for you,” Harry shrugged, “Exceedingly strange for me. But it is nice to be able to speak with them still.”

“But you like _Ennor_?”

“I do. I love it here. I have found myself a new home surrounded by kindness.”

“What has taken you so long to come here, to Mirkwood?”

“Reluctance to pass the Misty Mountains,” Harry skipped the truth, but then went back for it, “and I suppose the feeling that once I came here, things would be different. I am not overly fond of change, though I recognize the necessity of it.”

“Ah, that is a flaw of the elves, as well. I would not typically be found spreading around such flaws, but I do not think this is news to you.”

“Indeed, it is not!” They both laughed. Fawkes shifted on Harry’s shoulder and let out the softest of trills, but it was enough to brighten the air of the room. They talked for a while more, not of anything of importance, until Thranduil had somewhere else to be – kingly duties that Harry will never understand.

Thranduil walked Harry back to his room and Harry found that he didn’t want to stop talking. He still had questions, especially regarding Mirkwood, but he feared it would be an iffy topic when breached.

“Thank you very much for the company, Thranduil,” Harry said as his door approached.

“I thank you for allowing me to join you.”

“It is always a pleasure. Walks around your kingdom bring a special sort of happiness, for the sights are beautiful.”

They stopped at the door and the Elvenking seemed to hesitate.

“Tell me, Harry: have you been through my halls during the night?” Harry’s expression shifted into a confused one.

“No, my lord, I can’t say I have.” Thranduil made a considering noise.

“If it is alright by you, I would like to go on another walk tonight, when the sun has set.”

“Yes, that would be- that is, I would enjoy that.” Harry could have hit himself for stuttering.

“Wonderful. I will be back tonight, after dinner.” And then they parted.

XVI.

True to his word, the sun had set when there was a knock on Harry’s door. He had just fed Fawkes, stroking his plumage affectionately as he settled on the pillows, and jumped at the sound. He did not bother with wards here – he never did around elves – and the walls here were thick, so he did not hear him coming.

But Harry rose and answered the door. He was clothed in finer garments than he had worn in a very long time, after the few sets of clothes he had were taken by the goblins in their caves. He was switching between the two shirts he had and the trousers he cleaned every night, but on his second day at Mirkwood he was gifted with three outfits made of fine elven fabrics. He was wearing then the plainest of the three, meant for staying indoors and relaxing.

Thranduil was also dressed down since it was far passed the evening and into the night. He still wore his crown made of branches and autumn berries, but it looked enchanting against his hair glowing in the starlight. Harry bowed shallowly and Thranduil did the same.

“ _Bain aduial,_ Thranduil.” _Good evening_.

“ _I_ _elenath_ _sílam glân_ _sin dû_.” _The stars shine bright tonight._

“Yes,” Harry looked up at the hole at the top of his room, “They do.”

“Shall we go?”

As soon as they walked into the hallway, Harry realized why Thranduil had invited him out. Harry had said that the kingdom was beautiful in the daytime – and it was – but it was when reflecting starlight that the halls showed radiance. Harry could not keep his eyes from roaming, tracing the openings in the ceiling and walls to make a view of the night sky available at every corner. From those holes, spotted light entered the halls and struck against the trees and stone and made them glimmer like thousands of embedded gems. Harry traced his hands against many, but found them as smooth as they should have been.

Thranduil was stunning. The starshine seemed to prefer him, to bend in their paths specifically to graze his skin and illuminate his hair. When his blue eyes were hit just right, they glowed a cosmic silver that took Harry’s breath away. It was unnatural and otherworldly and completely divine.

Harry wanted to curl into himself. His hair remained the messy blackness of the night and his skin was a dark tan from so much time walking in the sun. He was still human, despite his magic, and it showed when next to this perfect creature.

“It is beautiful,” Harry said softly, careful not to break the spell of the stars. Thranduil’s lips moved slowly, the ends tilting up to make the smallest smile Harry had seen, but the most beautiful as well. They stopped walking. “The most breathtaking sight I have ever beheld.” Harry could not tell which sight he was speaking of.

“It is said,” the Elvenking spoke softly, voice lilting as it too felt the transformation that struck him as a whole, “that Wood-elves linger in the twilight of the Sun and the Moon. It is when the sun sets and the moon has just begun to rise that we find the most joy. We love the stars best of all,”

“And they love you back,” Harry cut in. That wasn’t necessarily an observation, nor was it a truth that Harry knew, but with the way Harry was surrounded by gilded light, he just had to believe it.

But Thranduil seemed pleased. He unclasped his hands that were resting in front of him to spread his arms wide, accepting the environment as it was. “We like to think so.”

“Thranduil,” Harry began unsurely, “I have been meaning to ask.” They resumed their walk.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Greenwood the Great. It is not known by that anymore, as a dark force has taken hold of it.” Harry hated to bring up the fate that befell Mirkwood, but he refused to stop speaking now. “But when scaling the trees and since visiting here, witnessing how your elves move through the forest with confidence, seeing the beauty of the dining feasts… it seems an awful shame to refer to such a thing as ‘Mirkwood,’ and a great injustice also. As king, you must know more than any other. What do you call it? In your head and when alone?”

“Ah,” Thranduil looked away, out towards the windows that showed the tips of the trees. “You ask a question that does not have an easy answer. I rule here as the King of Northern Mirkwood, but the forest spreads a great deal further than my domain. I can remember a time – hundreds of years ago, or perhaps even thousands, when first we arrived – and it was then that the Greenwood thrived. Darkness did not dare gather here but there were defenders in every corner for if it did.”

Then Thranduil looked down, towards the floor. He watched his feet glide and Harry did the same, almost becoming entranced in the movement before Thranduil spoke again.

“The Mirkwood I rule now and the Greenwood that lived then are not the same. I cannot see them as the same. I remember Greenwood, and I mourn Greenwood, and I yearn for it to return again, but what surrounds me is a pale imitation of what once was.” His jaw set. “But that does not mean I do not care for the trees, or the life that exists between them. This is still my forest. Not as a claim, but as a responsibility. It grows darker, that is true, but my Wood-elves are good, and they are joyous, and if we can keep the woods lighter near here, I must believe we can bring the light back throughout.”

Harry stared at him, transfixed, during his speech. He didn’t have a response worthy of the emotion displayed, so he remained silent.

“Do you have any more questions?”

Harry thought of asking after the dwarves, of making sure they were all well, but he did not want to spoil such a perfect night with silly questions that Bilbo was already taking care of.

“None, only a request that you continue to speak of your land as you have been.”

Thranduil indulged him, telling of the old forest and how he used to be able to enter it and find peace, where now he could go nowhere without feeling eyes upon him. He mentioned the river that ran throughout and the stunning silvery-blue that it used to be, reflecting the light of the sky. “It is dark as night, now,” he said mournfully, and Harry felt the loss in his heart.

They spoke for what must have been many hours, up at least until the early hours of the morning, until Harry was dead weight on his feet and conversation teetered off into comfortable silence. Thranduil turned them around and they travelled back to Harry’s room together. During the earlier conversations there were a few passing elves – all who had the same transformation as Thranduil, but none to such an extent – but this late there was no one left around them.

“Thank you,” Thranduil said when they’d arrived, “For sharing this night with me.”

“This was the best night that I have had in at least a very long time. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of it.” Harry put his hand to his chest and gave a small bow, not risking a larger one for fear of losing his balance, and was going to extend his hand out as was elvish custom when a pale one grasped it from his chest.

“Please,” Thranduil whispered, “Do not bow before me.”

Harry lifted his head slowly, eyes trailing up a perfectly angular face before resting on blue eyes. They stared at each other for a few seconds more and Harry’s hand warmed where it was trapped between both of Thranduil’s. The air around them thrummed as if charged with electricity but Harry knew it to be his magic and questioned the strange failure in restraining it. He straightened from his bent position and nodded his head instead.

“Good night, Thranduil.” He withdrew his hand with a smile and retreated to his room for the night.

He changed out of his good clothes in favor of the old ones and lit a lantern on the stone table near the bed. He hummed a sweet tune when moving Fawkes to one pillow and then climbed under the covers, falling asleep quickly with the vision of night sky and a reflection of a thousand stars resting behind his eyelids.

He awoke late, as was to be expected after being out for so long. In fact, he would have thought the entire night before was just a dream if not for the late hour that he awoke. The sun and the blue sky were there to welcome him as he crawled out of bed, but he did not think they would ever give him the same satisfaction as they did before, not after that night.

He had missed breakfast, but did not mind. He stayed in his room that morning repairing his ripped travel cloak and polishing his wand the best he could given limited supplies, just thinking through his mind. Now that Harry had met and walked with the Elvenking, everything that Thorin had said against him acted as poison in his lungs. But Harry could not allow himself to be biased: he had to learn both sides of the story before casting judgement.

He felt guilty discarding everything the dwarves had told him of Thranduil after only a few days but would not change his mind. Finally, when the sun had risen nearly to the peak of the sky and his stomach grew too loud to focus, Harry left his room.

There was food set up in a large room for lunch and the elves were free to stop in whenever they liked. When Harry got there, he was surprised to see so many in battle armor.

“What is going on?” He asked Legolas, who he had yet to get close to at all.

“Despite feelings towards the dwarves, we cannot deny that the spiders are growing in number and strength. There is a hunt this afternoon to drive them back further. Would you like to come?” Harry looked at all of the elves who were laughing but turned a serious eye to Legolas when he moved, waiting for the signal that they would leave.

“When do you begin?”

“We will meet at the front gates when the sun is highest.”

Harry screwed up his face in thought. How much time would he have to eat and change his outfit?

“I’ll be there,” he promised and went quickly to the plates. He ate as much as his stomach pleased but in a rush and then went back to his room, which he finally remembered how to get to. He changed into the second of the three outfits gifted to him: this one was of a sturdier material and was meant to be worn during sword or arrow practice or in the case of a battle but Harry donned them now for a hunt. He was delighted to find them flexible and light and his movement was not hindered in the slightest. The dragonhide underarmor that he’d worn during the war and every day after it fit comfortably underneath and was barely visible at all. His wand was slipped into his holster and he patted Fawkes on the head.

“Be safe,” he said, though it was not the phoenix that was walking into danger.

He met with the others with a few minutes to spare so he and Tauriel chatted about the weather until it was time. Legolas was leading them and Tauriel moved to his side so Harry stayed behind them and ceased to speak. There were curious glances thrown to him even now but they were ignored by all in favor of the task they had set out to accomplish.

To Harry it seemed it had taken quite a while to find the spiders, but later some of the spear-elves denied it, saying that they had grown closer every day with the hopes of catching a wandering elf for lunch. They had a strong hatred towards the spiders that was exceeded only by that for Orcs and it was clear through their fighting.

Harry did not show off at all. He was there to help hunt, not to entertain elves. He stuck to slicing spells and freezing charms and _incarcerous_ to down the spiders, taking great care not to blast them with so many bodies around or to throw fire spells, as they often went wrong. He also had a few of his own spells, born after years of Orc raids, such as _inimicus nocere_ and _urgeo adversus_.

At the very end of the hunt when most of the spiders were dead and the elves had broken up to catch the ones fleeing, Harry decided to try a new spell that he hadn’t tested yet. He stayed in the same area they all were in and was taking down the few spiders that hadn’t fled with three others when two spiders charged him from opposite directions. Harry held the tip of his wand to his left middle finger and then spread his arms out as if he was about to attempt flight, with both hands pointed at a spider. While he was pressing out his arms, he spoke the words “ _dagor caim_.”

The effects were astounding. The air around him moved quickly to form a cyclone and then expanded outwards in a burst, sending the two spiders flying far from him. From his hands a bolt of light was released and both ends of it struck the spiders in their flight. They collapsed into trees, certainly dead.

Harry was shocked and turned around to see if the other elves had witnessed what happened. They were staring at him with surprise, as he had not shown this sort of power yet, and he could only manage to give a weak smile before looking away. He was not worried or uncomfortable. In fact, he was fairly sure of what had just gone down; he just didn’t want to explain it right then.

Since Harry’s spiders were the last two, the four of them waited for the other elves to come back, weapons at the ready for any surprises that might appear. When everyone had returned with no major injuries, Legolas led them home. They were able to change out of their battle outfits and into comfier clothes and then it was time for the dinner feast. Harry followed the others out and sat at his customary chair next to Legolas. Thranduil arrived and sat at his throne with his eyes closed.

Much to Harry’s surprise and regret, he was one of the topics at dinner. The elves with him wanted to know how he had shot lightning from his hands and the mere idea of it had others bend around backs to stare at him. Eyes glanced often to his hands, likely hoping to catch sight of scorch marks that would prove the rumors true. Harry took great care not to acknowledge these rumors and instead dedicated himself to a conversation with Legolas about if it was within his abilities to purify water. Thranduil did not join any conversations that evening, keeping his eyes closed during most of it; but when the tables began emptying and Harry was finishing off his wine, he asked if Harry would join him in his study and Harry graciously accepted.

They stood together to walk back through the trees and into the cave. Thranduil finally opened his eyes once they were indoors and Harry was surprised to find that he looked tired.

“The dwarves are proving to be very taxing,” he said simply when he caught Harry’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said for lack of anything better.

“Goodness, I don’t blame you. No, I dare say I couldn’t separate you and the dwarves further in my mind.” Harry was not given a chance to ponder that before Thranduil was moving on to the topic that he had called Harry aside for. They reached the private rooms and entered the same as last time. “Now, are you alright?”

“Me?” Harry asked.

“Yes. You seemed annoyed at the feast today.” Harry did not realize Thranduil noticed anything with the way his eyes never seemed to open unless reaching for his drink.

“I was not annoyed, just choosing to stay away from the questions they had.”

“Can I ask them or would you rather not speak of it? I won’t force you.” But, ah, Harry needed to talk through his thoughts, so he gave his blessing to Thranduil kindly. “What happened while hunting?”

“You mean the final spell.”

“The one everyone seems to be mentioning, yes.”

“It is not worth all the attention it has been gathering. They just had not seen me perform with much power since the other spells I used didn’t need it. Still…” Harry sat at a cushioned chair with Thranduil’s permission. “Still, this one was different.”

“In what way?”

“Well, here’s the thing about spells, at least where I came from. They are done through the intent of magic. When we are young, before we get our wands, accidental magic can occur when emotions are high. Even after I had received some training, I would accidentally perform magic if I subconsciously willed it enough.

“But that takes a lot of magic and it leaves us drained,” Harry explained. “It would be useless to duel and be out of energy and magic after three spells. So the wand was created many, many years before I was ever born and it acted as a focus. Each one is individual, as I have stated, and your own wand connects more closely to your core than anything else ever will. It is sacred. It is also incredibly useful and made it easier to will your magic to act how you meant it to.”

Harry shook his head. “But that was not enough. Mere intent could get messy. Magic mimics the mind, and if someone wished to hurt the person they were dueling, but also wished they were not so weary, magic could not always focus on which one to act on first or would mix them together. We needed a way to be more efficient. And so, the spells were given names.

“In my world, we had an ancient language called Latin. It was used mostly in medical and scientific situations by my time, but it was also used for magic. If we wanted to confuse our opponent, we said its translation in Latin: confundus. Language itself has power – more than we can comprehend – and so it was the chosen tongue of our Mother Magic.”

“But here?” Thranduil urged.

“Like I said: language. There were some wizards and witches who had a special ability to speak to snakes, and if they used that language (called Parseltongue) to set wards or locks, only a counterspell said in that same language could reverse the effects. I have always used Latin spells as they are the ones most familiar to me, and even since coming here I have remembered enough Latin to create my own.” Harry peered up through his eyelashes. “But you don’t have Latin. That is not a language that has ever existed for you. It is compatible with my magic, that is true, but it is still not the one I should be using.

“But today,” Harry smiled, “Today I tried something new. I was in a magic wood that has been soaking in the elvish magic for thousands of years. And while I have been using my magic since arriving on Middle-Earth, my reserves have been refilling with the wild magic that moves here.” Thranduil knew where this was going; Harry was sure he had for a while, but he was too involved in the story to interrupt or guess. “Two spiders were coming at me from opposite sides and I knew I could get them both, so I spoke. _Dagor caim._ ”

“ _Battle-hands_ ,” Thranduil realized.

“In Sindarin,” Harry nodded.

“And the reaction?” He looked so eager, so interested to know.

“The magic that was around me leapt at the chance to attack. It gathered in a tight circle and then pushed outwards to blow the spiders back. I’m not sure where the light came from, except from my hands, but it was more powerful than anything I’ve been able to cast since coming here. And I didn’t even have to try.” Harry shrugged helplessly.

“That is, astonishing,” Thranduil leaned back in his chair as he got lost in his thoughts. Harry let him, wanting to get a few minutes of peace before any more questions would arise. They sat in a pleasant silence for a good deal longer and Harry stroked his fingers across the wooden arm of the chair. “May I make a request?” The king said finally.

“You may.”

“You of course are free to refuse. Could you show me an example?”

Harry was expecting this. He would have asked the same thing if the positions were switched. “Do you have a few spare twigs around?”

As it turned out, Thranduil did not have twigs but he did offer the use of anything Harry found in the room. He offered the use of his crown, but Harry refused to do anything on such an important object. Instead, Harry asked if he might use the armrest of the chair Thranduil was sitting in.

Permission was granted so Harry knelt down and removed his wand from his holster. He pointed the tip at the left armrest and did a mental translation before speaking: “ _floreo_.” Vines spread from the tip of his wand down the carved wood and from them bloomed a dozen kinds of flowers, one of each. Harry recognized some of them as a daffodil and a pink rose and a tiger lily but the others he did not have names for. They were beautiful, that was true, but they were nothing special.

But then Harry moved to the other armrest. He pointed his wand again at the wood and this time said “ _edlothia_.”

Harry put no more power into this spell, but still the magic around him rushed to do his bidding, wind ruffling his hair as it went. Vines weaved up the arm and touched the back of the chair, nearly reaching where Thranduil was sitting, and from them were a plethora of flowers of every sort. Harry could not name but a few of them as they were not the kind he’d learned about in herbology. These were Ennor flowers and they were stunning. They bloomed large and with vibrant colors and covered every inch of the chair that the vines had reached. When Harry brushed his fingers against them, the petals were soft to the touch.

Harry moved his eyes so they were pointed up, up to where Thranduil’s face was displayed before him. There was a kind of pleasure in his gaze that Harry thought he would be eternally happy if he only could keep the king feeling such a way. He wondered if this was how subjects felt when under a kind and benevolent ruler. “You see?” Harry said weakly.

“I can see a great many things,” Thranduil answered enigmatically. He reached down and plucked gently a pink flower from the right armrest. “Do you know what flower this is?”

“No,” Harry choked down the ‘my lord’ that tried to come after it. By the glance, he thought Thranduil could tell.

“This is called _lissuin_. It is known for its sweet aroma that can bring ease to even the most troubled man’s heart.” Thranduil breathed in the smell delicately and then offered the flower to Harry. He brought his head closer slowly and breathed. It smelled like when a sweet pastry was in the oven, almost done and with a honey filling, and Harry felt a smile grace his lips without blessing. He froze when Thranduil threaded the flower into black hair, just behind his ear and where anyone could see it. It was kept there by Thranduil tying the stem into a small braid and then knotting it off. “You are quite like it.”

Before Harry could make sense of what he meant or what he was referring to (something with smell?), Thranduil was standing and walking away from him, towards a chest on the other side of the room. Harry stood on shaking legs and tried to keep up.

“I have a gift for you.”

“A gift, my lord?”

“A gift, _mellon-nîn_ ,” Thranduil corrected, and opened the chest. From it, he removed something that looked very familiar to Harry.

“A holster!” Harry cried in surprise. He was touched by the considerate gesture.

“I am still unsure what the dwarves want, but I am sure that it will not lead to anything good. We can’t have your wand falling out on you, now can we?” It was teasing and Harry felt a smile take his lips despite the fierce blush on his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice that contrasted with the heated cheeks and the passion the thanks was said with. “This is so kind of you.”

“Why don’t you try it on?” As Harry pulled off his old holster to do so, Thranduil kept talking. “It was crafted by the best we have here: a she-elf by the name of Maeneth. You may remember her as the one yesterday who stated how worn it was,” he smirked. “She and I met later and I asked if it was within her capabilities to make a new one. She always likes a challenge. She stayed up through the night to make this, but I paid her handsomely to do so.”

“I will have to thank her, too,” Harry said as he straightened out his arm. “It fits perfectly.” And it did. It looked much like the last one but was made of a similar material as that of his new battle outfit that made it easy to bend and stretch with his arm. The material was layered twice so it was a little thicker but still not heavy, making it suitable as both a sheath and as protection. His wand fit snugly inside.

“Can you perform the spells to make it invisible?”

“Yes, that won’t be a problem at all. I have performed them often enough and will do so tonight when I am back in my room.” Harry felt a lump well in his throat. “Really, _thank you_ for this-”

“Please, thank me no more. You are a guest in my honored halls and though we cannot bequeath you a jewel, a holster is something within our abilities.”

Harry bowed his head and when he lifted his eyes he noticed again how tired Thranduil looked. “It is late, Thranduil,” he decided to say instead of anything more on the topic, “and I think we could both use some rest.”

“Yes, I quite agree. It has been an exciting day for all, but less so for me.” Then he grumbled something more about dwarves and stubbornness as they left the room together.

“If you would like to go to bed now, I can walk my own way to my room. You have been great company through this evening,” he stroked absently at the bottom strands of his hair, “but have well-earned your rest.”

Thranduil did not say anything until they got to the end of the hallway, at which point he pulled Harry to a stop. He accepted the offer but then added an invitation of his own.

“I do not know of your plans tomorrow and I do not ask you to change them for me, but I will be sitting at my throne through most of the day, dealing with the emissaries from Esgaroth. I invite you to sit by my side throughout. It might well be dreadfully boring, but your company, I believe, would make it bearable.”

Harry accepted, surprised the Elvenking would allow him in such important matters, and then they separated for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the end <3


	4. The End: XVII. - XX.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> avpsy's "this is the end" plays in the distance  
> Thank you all so much for reading, it really means the world to me xoxo

XVII.

Harry hadn’t seen Bilbo except for after dinner and was beginning to get worried. There had been no mention of a hobbit so Harry didn’t believe he’d been caught but where else could he be? Unless he’d gone out to the forest and got lost, which would actually be the worst possible thing that could happen. On his way to breakfast the next morning he performed a point-me just to make sure he wasn’t in the direction of the forest and relieved to find him still in the cave.

Thranduil joined the elves during breakfast – something he usually took alone in his rooms – and conversation was muted in the early hour. The weather was cold this day and no one wished to leave the warmth of the fires tucked into the room corners.

“Some fine wine would warm us up,” one elf sighed wistfully but was hit on the head by another.

“Wine for breakfast, Galion? That sounds like an addiction working!”

“I do say,” said another, “Wine and dance might do us good.” The already quiet elves grew silent at this thought and then, as one, they all turned to look at their king. He pretended not to notice but Harry knew there was no way he didn’t catch the synchronized movement.

“And some song too, you think?”

“The Mirkwood could do with a little more cheer, I’d say!”

“Scare those spiders off for good this time.”

“A _mereth_! Couldn’t you imagine?” And then they all looked again at Thranduil.

“Do you expect _me_ to organize this,” he drawled, “or will you have it covered?”

The elves cheered, knowing that even if the king would not host it, he would not disallow it, and the mood improved at once. Conversation drifted through the halls of the palace and laughter could be heard constantly and eventually Thranduil asked what was available to work with. Food and decoration could be made easily but berries would have to be picked to make it a true autumn festival.

“But the wine!” Galion brought up again.

“Esgaroth emissaries will be here today anyway. We can send them home with the order of their finest wines to be delivered tomorrow night.”

A great deal of the elves jumped up and danced happily at the announcement and Harry watched them with pleasure, loving the pure joy they could radiate. Thranduil allowed a fond smile to show and watched them as well, until an elf went up to him and declared that the representatives had arrived. Some elves cheered at that, but Thranduil had the expression of one who was preparing to be annoyed. He made eye contact with Harry, who stood up with him and walked across the room to his side. They left together.

“This is going to be boring. I give you now another chance to back out.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that!” Harry said, hand to the heart. “Someone needs to be there to remind you to order the wine, or Galion will be very distraught.” He nodded seriously and Thranduil’s lips twitched.

“There will be guards with me.”

“You think they will speak to you when you are intimidating emissaries? That would make you appear kind and approachable, are you sure you want that?” The Elvenking’s lips cracked apart to reveal bright white teeth.

“An excellent point and one that makes me glad that you will be with me.”

“What is it they have come to speak with you about?”

“Their Master has sent messengers to ask for more money, if I understood correctly,” the ‘ _and I always do’_ was unsaid but not unheard.

“More money for what?” Harry asked, but then they were at the throne room so Thranduil stayed silent. He took regal strides to his throne and then sat down, cloak spread out and posture just relaxed enough to portray boredom. Harry sat at the smaller but still official chair at his left and let his hair cover much of his face. If he had a hood he would be wearing that, but this was as mysterious as he could get.

The representatives were a man and a woman but neither looked to want to be here. They were nervous and fiddled with their messages held in twitchy fingers.

“What is it you want?”

As it turned out, they did want more money. They were there on behalf of the Master to ask (though it was more of a disguised demand) for more money for the bread they shipped up the river. Apparently there were complaints about how the people of Lake-town were not earning enough for wages but they had no more money in the reserves.

“Do you believe that, Harry?”

“Not for a second, my lord,” Harry said, smirking. They looked at him warily. “Where does the money that you already send them go?”

“T-to the wages, of course.”

“And yet it’s not enough? My dear Lord Thranduil, what do you buy from them?”

“Plenty, Harry. Wines and breads, cheeses and greens, buttertubs and baskets of grains…”

“I shouldn’t like to think you aren’t paying them well for all of that!”

“We pay full price, I assure you!”

“Y-you would have no food at all if we did not send it to you!” The man tried to declare.

“Did your Master tell you to say that?” Harry asked flippantly, though he watched carefully for the reactions.

“You forget that if I did not buy your food you would have no money to speak of. I am paying a good deal for your goods and if you do not see any of that money it is not a matter of my trade agreements, but your Master’s authenticity.”

There was little more said after that. The man still had more excuses but the woman seemed to know they were done and just stood quietly. Thranduil had just dismissed them when Harry spoke up again.

“We’re going to need more wine, by the way.”

“What?”

“Ah, yes. The wine. Tell your people that I am going to need five barrels of your finest Dorwinion gardens wine by tomorrow night. Do not worry,” Thranduil flashed sharp canines, “They will be paid for in full.” And then the two humans were led out of the room.

“Don’t you think it was a little much?”

“Fear not, Harry,” Thranduil reassured, “Their names have been recorded. I will have some of my elves check later this week to make sure nothing has happened to them. I could tell as well as you that the Master is behind this and I will not have him cutting their pay more just because I can see through his ruse. They will be treated most fairly.”

“I am glad.”

They were free to leave the throne room then but Harry did not want to separate from Thranduil so they went together to lunch and declared that the wine had been ordered. They spoke through the day and stopped only when Thranduil had to meet again with the dwarves. Harry went to his room at that point and spent the rest of his time speaking to Fawkes, who was more aware and responsive than he had been the day before, and talking to Hermione when she mirror-called him.

He was embarrassingly emotional talking to her and he had so much to say but no idea what to focus on. She led the conversation, asking about the new world she was told he had been transported to, and he was happy to answer every question she had. At the very end of the call she asked him a final one:

“Are you happy?”

“Happy?”

Harry thought to the happiness that he had felt at Imladris and how at home this world has made him feel. He thought to Gandalf and to Bilbo and could definitely answer that with a _yes_.

But he thought also of Thranduil and of the elves at Mirkwood and of the trees that grew green but had black staining the branches. He was happier than he ever imagined he could be and he was more content with his life than Hermione could understand.

“Never mind, don’t answer me!” Hermione laughed, white sheets around her giving away that she was in a hospital bed. “I can see it all over your face; you don’t need to tell me anything!”

They hung up eventually, hours after they began, and Harry felt as though that was the final piece, the final opinion he needed before fully allowing himself to love where he was.

“Harry?”

Harry startled, looking back to his door and finding it wide open, Thranduil standing in its shape.

“I’m sorry. You did not arrive for dinner and we were worried.” Harry’s eyes flicked to the hole in his ceiling and he was surprised to find the dusty blue sky and light stars of twilight.

“I’m very sorry – I didn’t mean to be rude. I was preoccupied by something important.”

“I could see that. Was that an old friend of yours?”

“Yes, that was Hermione.” Harry invited Thranduil in and offered his chair, choosing to sit on the bed instead. “Normally I would not be sensitive from talking with her, but you must understand that it has been a _very_ long time.”

“Will you explain?”

Harry paused and contemplated. “Sure,” he stretched slowly. “Hermione was one of my best friends in school. She, Ron, and I made up a ‘golden trio,’ though I had other friends like Neville and Luna. She was the smart one, the one who always motivated me to do my best. During the final battle, she used too much of her magic to defend some of the younger school kids that hadn’t been evacuated with the rest. She fell into a restorative coma, which is fairly common for us. But while down, she was attacked by Death Eaters – the enemies. She was saved, but got a great many injuries before we could get to her. Her injuries healed with time, but she never awoke.”

Harry smiled tight-lipped at the mirror. “Neville called me a few weeks ago, maybe about a day in their time, and said that she had finally awoken. For me, this was my first time talking to her in all one hundred and twenty years.”

“I am happy that you are still able to communicate with your friends.”

“I’ll have to introduce you to them someday. Only Gandalf has met some of them.” Harry’s face fell suddenly and he looked away. “You will still not meet one, though. Hermione has awoken, but Ron still sleeps. He was defending Hermione’s body before we could get to her and was hit by an unknown spell. He has been asleep for just as long as Hermione has been but they don’t have any hope of him waking from it naturally.”

Thranduil reached across the gap between their bodies to rest his hand on Harry’s bicep. “I’m so very sorry for what you’ve been through.”

“It’s okay, really,” Harry rested his hand over Thranduil’s. “It gets easier with time.”

“I had a wife, once,” Thranduil shared. Harry did not expect it at all but knew to stay quiet for him to continue. “She was the most beautiful elf I’d ever seen and she was a great warrior. None compared to her beauty or her grace. The Valar blessed us with Legolas and we were happy.” He looked sadly at the ceiling and to the stars that glimmered beyond it. “She was taken prisoner by the Witch-king’s forces to Gundabad, where she died. It has been hundreds of years, over a thousand now, but some days it is all I can do not to weep for what we lost.”

“You haven’t lost her, Thranduil,” Harry said. He dropped to the floor to kneel before the king. “The ones who love us never really leave us.”

Neither spoke for a while.

“In the Woodland Realm, we are favored by the stars. Nowhere else on Middle-Earth will you see them so clearly or shine so bright. For her, I had the White Gems of Lasgalen – as pure and white as stars – sent to the dwarves of Erebor to be turned into a necklace so she could wear it evermore. So she could be dressed in the stars like she deserved.” Thranduil’s face twisted in anger. “They never returned them.”

Harry’s hand went up to cover his mouth in shock.

“Eventually, the dragon Smaug took over the mountain, and there the gems remain.”

“Is that why you did not help them?” Harry asked without thinking, and then snapped his mouth shut with regret when he processed his words. “I’m sorry, Thorin said- that was unkind of me.”

“We did not fight the dragon because I believed it to be a losing battle,” Thranduil snapped. “I will not walk into a war that I know I cannot win. Moreover, I will not direct the lives of my elves into a battle that I know they will not return from.”

Harry nodded. It made sense.

“And the dwarves now?”

“There is only one reason for them to be here. They think I am a fool or that I have not figured it out, but they would not be so close to Erebor for the first time in decades after the dragon has not been seen for years if they did not plan to retake it. I do not know how they will get in or how they plan to survive, but after the dragon is angered, it will come to Mirkwood. We are the closest kingdom with riches to our name; it is the logical next stop for a greedy dragon.”

Harry nodded again. He did not try to deny it.

“So you are trying to stop them?”

“Not for their own sakes, I assure you.”

“Of course,” Harry said. His mind fumbled around with words for what to say next. “I am sorry about your wife, and for the jewels. Neither is right.”

They parted not long afterwards and Harry could not stop the guilt that festered within him for ending the conversation so poorly. There was nothing he could do, that was true, but the thoughts didn’t leave him alone for a long while.

At some point he fell asleep, but he knew that only because at one point he had to wake up. His stomach was crying at the skipped meal last night so he dressed and made his way to the food. The elves were abuzz at the prospect of getting ready for the festival but Harry’s mood did not improve at their joy; he could think only of Thranduil and the heartbroken expression he had worn when speaking of the death of his wife and the resolve when considering the death of his elves. Thranduil could not be seen for many hours and Harry offered his services as magic-wielder and heavy-items-lifter (through magic, of course).

When lunch had passed and the wine had arrived and the elves were making final preparations, Harry retreated to his room to change. It was time for the third outfit, made of a higher quality and specifically for important occasions. His trousers were the color of forest leaves and his shirt was a stark white and adorned by many metal-carved shapes and beads. He did not feel worthy of such garments.

When the knock at his door sounded, he hesitated. He did not actually know who was there, but the worry of it being Thranduil clouded his rational thoughts until a second knock had him moving. Sure enough, it was long blond hair and serious eyes that greeted him.

“I am afraid we ended last night on a sore note,” he spoke right away, “and all I have heard today is how our wizard has not smiled even once. Might we try to fix that?” Harry looked at the hand that was extended to him. “I’m terribly afraid that I haven’t a companion for tonight’s festival. Would you do me the honor?”

Harry stared and stared. And then, a slow smile worked its way up his lips until he was grinning and taking the hand, allowing his to be transferred to Thranduil’s elbow. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for how we ended last night. I asked too much and laid accusations and I should not have.”

“No, my responses towards you were uncalled for.” Fawkes flew through the gap of the door just before Harry closed it and settled himself on Harry’s shoulder. The phoenix was finally almost fully red again, and then the gold feathers would come in after. They began walking to the main gates. “But let us forget about that tonight. An end-of-autumn festival is never one to be upset at.”

So they both put their thoughts and concerns away for the evening and feasted instead. They were loud and merry and the elves sang and played instruments for hours. The merrymaking was never-ending. Harry danced with Tauriel and with Legolas, who spun him so fast he lost his balance and fell, and with a great deal of other elves. He could still not be coerced into singing – not even after a few glasses of the best wine Harry had ever sipped – and his dancing was terrible, but no one minded at all.

The best moments, however, were those spent with the Elvenking. They danced repeatedly, and even the dances that they didn’t take together had a strange way of bringing them close for a few moments in the middle. Thranduil smiled wider and truer than Harry had ever seen and the sight of his happiness made Harry’s heart soar. Thranduil played one song on his harp that the elves danced to as a slow waltz but Harry sat that one out, choosing instead to watch the king in his moment of peace and dedication to his elves.

They continued on beyond the turn of the day, late into the early morning hours. Fawkes flew above the crowd at one point and sang his first song since the rebirth and it struck everyone silent from the hope it brought. Festivities were doubled after he was done. It was only when the sun began to rise and the wine ran low that the elves began to retire to their bedchambers or homes in the trees. Harry spun around once more on his own before deciding to do the same. Clean-up could wait until after everyone got some rest. He danced through the trees and hummed on his way down the halls and collapsed into his bed with a smile still lingering on his face.

XVIII.

When he woke up, it was gone.

His dreams had been sweet and full of light and laughter, but they were broken with commotion in the hallway.

“The dwarves are gone!”

The elves were running everywhere, trying to find them if they were still in the cave, as they should have still been in the cave, but Harry knew immediately what had happened. Bilbo saw his chance with everyone outdoors and he took it. At some point the night before, Bilbo Baggins and the thirteen dwarves in Thorin Oakenshield’s company left Mirkwood for Erebor.

All good feelings Harry had been building up over the last week vanished at once. The harsh reality hit him like a brick to the face: Mirkwood was only one stop to a longer journey and Harry had pledged himself to see it through. It did not matter that he preferred elves or that he was happier now than ever; what mattered was that Harry needed to see this through for Bilbo and for Gandalf and he could not do it in Mirkwood.

He had to leave.

The realization sat him up in bed. He had to _leave_.

He didn’t want to. Oh, what would he tell Thranduil?

Harry considered his options as quickly as he could while changing into his old clothes – not his new, good ones. Those ones he left in the closet. It did not seem right to take the gifts when he had nothing to leave in return. This whole time all he did was take, take, take, and now he would leave them in distress and in trouble.

The idea of sneaking out crossed his mind but he vetoed it quickly. That would make Thranduil think he had been in cahoots with the dwarves the whole time and that the numerous conversations and the feelings were all for show or distraction. The thought of Thranduil being used or thought to be betrayed made him more upset than he could describe.

He would need to find him then. Find him and apologize.

“Let’s go, Fawkes,” he said.

Together they opened the door and walked down the halls. Some elves ran passed him and others stopped to stare, likely realizing that his old attire and determined expression meant something was going to happen. Harry was able to get through them all without stopping and made his way to Thranduil’s personal hall, hoping that was where he would be.

It wasn’t, but it worked out all the better because Thranduil found him before Harry even had a chance to pass the dining area.

“The dwarves are gone,” Harry spoke first, wanting to get that part over with. “I’ve heard just about every elf yell it down the corridors.”

Thranduil looked pained as he asked his question. “Did you know?”

“No.” The confession caused the lines on Thranduil’s forehead to smooth out and Harry hated that he was about to make them worse. “But I must catch up with them anyway.”

“Harry?”

“I’m sorry, I…” Harry’s cool and unattached façade cracked at the vulnerability shown in the Elvenking’s eyes. Only… no. This was not the king; this was the elf. This was just Thranduil, as he was just Harry. “It is expected I go with them. I _must_ go with them.”

Thranduil’s gaze flickered between his eyes, trying to find something that Harry was desperate not to let show.

“You could stay-” he began.

“No, Thranduil- Thranduil, I-” Harry could not find the words he needed. “I came with the dwarves not for them or their quest, but for the small creature that went with them. I will not allow him to get hurt, and to fulfill that promise I must go!” Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper and tears lined his eyelids. “I want to stay. More than anything, I want to stay here where the stars shine and song is always present, but I can do nothing here. I am useless while I hide behind walls. _I’m sorry. Goheno nin_.”

“Harry,” Thranduil breathed.

“ _Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au'._ ”

Thranduil’s faced changed just so – his mouth dropped open with an exclamation that never came, his eyes got minutely wider, and his eyebrows raised into an expression of desperation – but Harry could not wait around any longer. He spun on his heels and ran from the room, leaving the palace from the front gates and not meeting any resistance on the way. Thranduil made no orders for him to be caught. Harry could not spare the thought to wonder what that meant for either of them.

Harry followed the directions of the point-me spell, knowing that he was likely at least a half-day’s journey behind them. He ran only for as long as he could along the River Running with his body out of shape after a week of rest. He walked after that, forcing himself to be content with the knowledge that he would catch up to them before they entered the mountain.

He used the time he had to think. Already he missed Mirkwood an inordinate amount and he wanted nothing more than to turn back and apologize to Thranduil for leaving, but he knew that was not an option. The damage was done and now it was time to deal with it.

_But why did it hurt so much?_

Harry thought more about the final words he had said and tried to make sense of the expression he got in return. Was Thranduil receptive? Did he feel the same? It seemed so during their talks and their dances, but Harry could be reading things wrong. Already it had taken him so long from his characteristic obliviousness and he had only figured out his feelings when he was faced with leaving it all behind. So at the last second Harry did something about it. This might have been fine, if only Harry knew what Thranduil’s reaction was and had not run away immediately after.

“ _Cormamin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au'_ ,” he had said. _My heart shall weep until it sees thee again_. It was a traditional farewell towards loved ones and was a phrase that took great care not to be abused.

Thranduil knew all of this. What did he think of it?

Harry walked through the day and much of the night, his sleep schedule thrown off a little from the festival and days leading to it. It took three full days until he reached Lake-town and was welcomed to chaos. Orcs were everywhere and there were four dwarves that didn’t make it to the mountain, with an injured one guarded by an elf.

“Well, this is new,” Harry said and then jumped into the fray.

Tauriel was fighting desperately and Legolas was not terribly far behind. Harry knew a lot must have happened during his walk and was surprised that he saw none of it until now.

“Harry!” Tauriel yelled, stabbing two more Orcs in the heads with her daggers. “Help Kíli – he’s dying of poison!”

Harry blasted a whole row of Orcs into the lake and then leaped over dead bodies to where Kíli was laying, face pale and sweaty with a fever. Harry pointed his wand at the wound on his leg and said: “ _eliciunt._ ” As the poison was drawn out of the wound, gathering in the air above it, Harry looked around him. “On your left!” He warned Legolas, who ducked just in time. “Tauriel, has anything been done about the wound yet?”

“One of the dwarves was finding _a_ _thelas_!”

“That makes this easier for me.” Harry focused more on his task and a long line of black ink-like substance was forming in the air from the vapor and spread-out poison from the blood stream. It was dirty work but it seemed to be helping. Bofur ran in the house just as he finished and flicked the poison away from them.

“Bofur! The poison’s gone but the wound still needs healing and wrapping!”

“Óin!” Bofur called their healer over.

“I will guard you as you work!” Tauriel promised the dwarf. Harry knew that Legolas would protect Tauriel in return and Harry wanted to protect Legolas, but there were more Orcs out there that might be doing worse.

“What do the Orcs want?”

“The dwarves!”

Harry swore to himself. They were continuing the work of Azog, no doubt. Three Orcs entered his vision on his right and Legolas shot one of them down before Harry could even lift his wand.

“Thanks,” Harry said as he took out the other two. “What are you two doing here?”

“We were with the first squad sent out to get the dwarves back but the Orcs ambushed them. We stayed back to fight the Orcs and the dwarves got away!”

“So they’re on their way to the mountain now?” _So you haven’t heard of my leaving?_

Just then, a giant _boom_ sounded from Erebor that had everyone pausing and looking over. Then the fight resumed.

“My guess is that they’ve made it,” Tauriel said with disgust, the uncharacteristic anger surprising Harry.

“Please tell me that’s not the dragon,” Harry begged. The Orcs suddenly withdrew and began making for the boats.

“That would be the dragon,” Fíli said.

Roaring could be heard then, loud and furious, and Harry could only spare a quick thought for how everything had gotten so bad in so little time. And he knew he couldn’t do everything or help everyone so he had to pick.

“Tauriel!” Legolas yelled. “There are others! We must go!” He was speaking, of course, of the Orcs that had left after dozens had been killed by their combined hands. But Tauriel was looking back at Kíli, face conflicted, and Harry wondered at just what he missed while at Mirkwood.

“He will be fine!” Harry assured quickly, believing it. The poison was out and the wound wasn’t actually all that bad. “But the Orcs are going to kill his family!” With that motivation, Tauriel followed Legolas out the door.

“Master Harry?” Bofur asked.

“Yes, Bofur?” Harry was going around the house they were in, looking out all of the windows, and shooting periodic looks at the mountain that seemed to shake under burning roars.

“Bilbo is at the mountain, with the others. It was time for him to do his part as burglar.”

“Don’t you think he’s done quite enough for you?” Harry asked sharply, not sparing Bofur a glance.

“Yes, I do think so.”

The resolute and even angry tone make Harry stop in his pacing and turn to him.

“Bilbo has saved our lives more times that I would care to admit and he’s long since earned his share, but Thorin wants his Arkenstone and that’s what Bilbo was here for.”

“Wants his _what_?”

“His Arkenstone. It’s a little ro-”

“I’m sorry, he’s doing all of this for a _stone_?!”

“Well, he’s doing it for the whole mountain too, and the treasure of course.”

Harry could have screamed. Stupid, _greedy_ dwarves!

“He’s awoken the dragon- _for a stone?!_ ”

“Harry! They want to talk to you!”

Harry turned at Fíli’s voice and saw three kids that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Our Da has a way to kill the dragon,” the boy said. “But they took him away before he could do it. The Master has him tied up somewhere, I’m sure.”

Harry prayed to the sky and then turned back to Kíli. He laid his hand on his forehead and poured in a little magic to help with the healing process. Then he went towards the kids.

“What’s his name?”

And that was how Harry found himself running through the town, looking for a man named Bard. It was fairly easy to find him, actually – he just looked to where there were guards on duty and scoffed.

“You don’t know what’s coming!” Bard was yelling. Harry wanted to agree.

“Dragon!” Harry said. “Smaug has awoken!” He slid into the room they were guarding and then had too many pointy weapons aimed at him.

“Who are you?” one man demanded.

“My name is Ithreniol!” Harry said, projecting as much power into his voice as he dared. “I am the Wandering Wizard. Should you attack me, you will find yourselves bound or hurt in nary a second.” They didn’t move. Harry ducked by them and broke the lock on the cage Bard was being kept in. “You’re the one with the kids, right?”

“Three of them,” he gasped, “Yes. How are they?”

“Safe for now. The boy said you had something.”

“Wait-” the man in charge began to say. Harry shut him up with a wave of his wand and then ran with Bard back to his home. Harry heard a great noise and looked to Erebor, where new light could be seen. A large figure was approaching quickly from the distance.

“You must evacuate!” Harry announced as soon as the door was open. The four dwarves and three kids were still there.

“Da!”

“The dragon is on its way! You must leave!”

Harry left Bard to talk to his kids to check on the dwarves, who were gathering their stuff. Kíli looked much better and was more lucid than last time.

“I can carry myself,” he was saying to his brother.

“There are ships; take them away from here,” Harry went to the girls and bent before them. “Do either of you have a ribbon?” He asked, as kindly as possible given the stress they were all under. The older one nodded and reached into her pocket but the younger one just tugged the one out of her hair and thrust it to him. “Thank you ever much, my lady,” he bowed his head and turned to the door.

“What are you doing?” Multiple people asked at once. He looked over at Bard.

“Do what you need to do,” Harry said, “and I will have your back. Magic spells bounce from dragon armor, but I can make a fierce shield.” And then he was out the door.

The dragon was almost to the town and Harry had little time left. He tied his hair up quickly (it wasn’t terribly long, but it was sure to hinder him if allowed to flow freely) and removed his wand from his holster. He raced to the edge of the docks and pointed his wand to the water in front of him. With a “ _nen-thand_ ” he raised his wand up above him and water came with it, forming into a shield that he then flicked his wrist to make as long as possible. He turned quickly on his heel and then thrust his hands forward, over the town. The water leapt from the lake to do his bidding, stretching fast and wide as a watery shield, covering most of the buildings.

It was just in time. Smaug dropped in his height and breathed a wicked death of flames aimed at Lake-town and its people. The shield held true. Harry could feel the force against his magic but since the shield was made out of water and not raw energy, he thought he could hold it for a great deal longer.

And it managed to survive two more attacks until Smaug realized that his flames were doing nothing. By this point Harry could see Bard up in a tower with a large black arrow in his arms and he could also see a few dozen boats rowing away in darkness, away from the town and destruction. Most of the people were escaping, then.

Harry could not even be glad about that before Smaug noticed it too. With a fuming snort, he turned in his path and was then on his way to destroy the boats. Harry dropped the shield in panic and the water came crashing down, soaking him and the town completely. He cast another shield, quickly and desperately and urgently and focused over the boats, and though it was not as strong and it would not last another attack, it did survive that one.

Smaug was furious. His attacks were not causing harm and he could not get the revenge he so clearly desired. His head was whipping around and it did not take him long to focus on Harry, recognizing him as the one standing in his way of destruction. He gave a great serpentine hiss and charged, breast glowing with dragonfire which he reared back and spit out.

Harry’s expression morphed into one of fear. “ _NEN-THAND_ ,” he cast one last time, and pulled the water in front of him, laying a thick shield that he could only hope would survive a direct, full-heat blast from an ancient dragon.

The flames came aggressively, spraying the docks around him with fire and lighting the nearest buildings on fire. But directly in front of him was the worst. Harry could see the bright yellows and reds and the hot white flames wrap around his shield and color the water into a collage of heat. He upheld the shield, straining and shaking, until the dragon was passing over him and the last of the flames hit it with brunt force. Harry cried and the shield broke, casting boiling hot water over his right shoulder and bicep and on his left forearm, where it had been protecting his face.

Harry screamed in pain, all thoughts forgotten as the water caused his skin to go a bright red and blisters to form. He collapsed in tears and could not have defended the town from another attack if they needed him.

But fortunately, perhaps in part due to Harry’s sheer dumb luck, Bard fired the black arrow when Smaug was focused on Harry and it sailed true to its target. It hit the dragon and it went down in a cacophony of shrieks and thrashes and fire spurts. Smaug fell into the lake and did not reappear.

The flames were not able to catch the buildings on fire due to their thorough dousing earlier, but the area that Harry was in still burned bright from the full blast they received. Harry was surrounded by heat and pain and when those building collapsed into the water Harry almost went with them, body and mind exhausted, if not for the phoenix that flew in and flashed him out to safety.

He did not wake for many hours.

When he did awake, it was to Tauriel leaning over his body, Legolas a few feet away.

“Gundabad Orcs,” he was saying, along with something about a mark and legions. Harry could not focus well. Though his skin no longer felt like it was being burned off, his body was weak from depleting much of his magical stores.

“ _Hîr nín, Legolas. Celin ’winiath o adar lín_.”

Harry’s eyes opened fully then, any mention of Thranduil clearing his mind enough to focus. An elf had ridden in and Legolas was to return to his father.

“ _Tolo_ , Tauriel,” Legolas said, beckoning her forward.

“My Lord, Tauriel is banished.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. What had happened? What in the world did he miss?

“You may tell my father: If there is no place for Tauriel, there is no place for me.”

The elf-rider left without either of them. Legolas wished to ride to Gundabad, but Tauriel looked Harry over worriedly.

“Go,” Harry croaked. They both looked sharply up to his face. “I will be fine. A little rest is all I need.”

“We fear things are only getting worse,” Legolas warned. A weary look crossed Harry’s face.

“What’s going on?”

“The dwarves are in the mountain. As far as we know, they are all alive.” Harry felt relief at the thought. “Tauriel went after them despite orders to stay.”

“I wished to make sure one was safe,” she confessed.

“Kíli,” Harry guessed. She tilted her chin down.

“ _Ada_ will not allow her to return and I will not go back without her. The people of Lake-town were promised gold and as their town needs reconstruction, they are asking for help. Thorin will not give it.” Harry shut his eyes. Dragon-sickness.

“Go where you need to,” Harry said finally. He sat up and was relieved to find no pain for the moment – only hunger. “I will try to reason with the dwarves.”

There was a little more argument – Tauriel had not healed the burns, only muted the pain – but eventually Harry just had to turn and start walking away for them to do the same.

“Harry,” Legolas called at the last second. Harry looked over his shoulder, not turning any more than that. “Why are you here?” Harry bit his lip and blinked away tears.

“Good luck,” he said instead of an answer and then walked away.

He went first to Dale. It was where all of the survivors were going. Though Lake-town still stood for the most part, its passages were littered with the bodies of Orcs and there was a dragon’s body below it. No one wished to remain there.

It was in the lost city of Dale that they went to and tried to find shelter. Harry could see Bard in the distance, gazing off towards the mountain that was lit up, showing that dwarves remained in those halls. Harry climbed to him and announced his presence.

“Bard the Dragonslayer,” he sounded out. “It has a nice ring to it, I’ll admit.”

“Ithreniol,” Bard remembered and remarked in surprise.

“Ah,” Harry laughed and leaned on a wall, legs still tired. “I am called Harry, to friends. Are your children well?”

“Aye. We all survived.”

“That is always a light when surrounded by darkness. Has there been any sight of the dwarves?”

“None.” Bard’s face was grim. “I wish they had never come.”

Harry looked off to the mountain in melancholic thought. “So do I.”

He left Bard to the people who now called him King and walked to the Lonely Mountain. He had not yet reached it when a dwarf appeared on a ledge over him.

“Who dares approach the King Under the Mountain?”

“A friend, I’d hoped.”

Thorin peered down to Harry and then scoffed. “You are no friend of ours. A friend would have stayed with us until the mountain was reclaimed. Where have you been while we feared for our lives?”

Harry took out his wand and apparated to the ledge, startling Thorin and causing him to draw his sword. “Forgive me; I was saving your nephew from a certain death. The nephew _you_ abandoned to die.”

“DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF DEATH!” Thorin raised his sword to Harry’s throat.

“Harry!” came the sound of Bilbo’s voice. Harry looked over to him with relief.

“I am so glad you have survived,” Harry breathed. He knocked the sword away from his throat and went to kneel by Bilbo, pulling him into a hug. “What is your plan now?”

“Now?” Bilbo looked around nervously. Thorin stared him down. “We… we are still looking for the Arkenstone. I imagine when that’s found I can get my share and leave.”

They were both hiding something from him, Harry could tell.

“And you, King Thorin,” Harry stood and bowed, as much as it pained him to. This was not a benevolent king; this was a sick one. “What will you do about the people of Dale? They are sick and starving from the destruction that was rained down by the dragon that _you_ awoke.”

“The burglar awoke the dragon,” Thorin said defensively, face angry. Bilbo was pale.

“He has a name,” Harry said. His voice was quiet but deadly.

“Certainly, he has not earned the title of Burglar if he cannot find me one stone.”

Harry pulled Bilbo behind him when faced with dark eyes, glowing with anger and crazed with devotion.

“Good night, Thorin,” Harry said, voice allowing no debate. He pulled Bilbo with him.

“How is Kíli?” He asked.

“Much better.”

“And all the dwarves survived?”

“Yes.”

“And you?” Harry stopped in the hallway and turned to Bilbo, raking his eyes over him. Bilbo batted his concerned hands away.

“I am fine but I…” he hesitated. “I am in need of advice.”

“Lead me to a private room,” Harry demanded. They walked some more until they stepped in a room, which Harry warded with privacy spells. “What is the matter?”

“I have the Arkenstone,” Bilbo said right away. He pulled it from his cloak and Harry was amazed to find that it looked like someone had taken all of the light of the world and placed it in one gem. He nodded at Bilbo, who returned it to his jacket.

“And Thorin doesn’t know this?”

“Of course not. And I fear he would kill me if he found out I had hid it from him for so long.”

“You could pretend to find it?”

“No, Harry; you don’t understand. He is already ill with gold-sickness and the stone would only make him worse. He is not the dwarf that we followed here.” Bilbo looked regretful over saying the words and collapsed onto a chair. He looked tired.

“Sleep for now, Bilbo,” Harry decided. “We will deal with this in the morning.”

XIX.

But when morning came, nothing was any clearer. Harry reunited with the dwarves, who all came to him separately regarding Thorin’s condition. He had to explain repeatedly that dragon sickness was not a physical ailment that could be healed. It was mental, and therefore much more difficult.

Harry finally got food from the stores received from their stay in Lake-town. It was a relief to be able to feel his magic again and though the pain was back in his burns, some light healing spells at least took care of the worst of it.

They were looking for the Arkenstone, a daily thing apparently, and Harry was enlisted to help. He knew they wanted him to use magic to make it quicker, but Harry would not risk accidentally giving Bilbo away. As they walked through the piles of riches, Harry felt his eyes hurt from the light glinting off of all the metal. There was nothing beautiful about piles of unused gold.

Harry saw Thorin then, chuckling to himself and holding up a necklace with white stones on it. Harry knew immediately what it must have been and his thoughts were confirmed when he moved closer.

“The White Gems of Lasgalen,” Thorin held them up to his eyes. “I know an Elf-Lord who would pay a pretty price for these.” Harry could not help the judgement that welled within him as Thorin tossed the necklace away, scattering the gems across the piles.

Harry went to the necklace when Thorin was far enough away and admired it. It was a truly beautiful thing and Harry hated to see it broken. He cast a whispered _“reparo”_ and watched the gems fly back into their places. He picked up the necklace, stroked it sadly, and then tucked it away into his cloak. No one saw it happen.

It was not too much longer when Balin came running in with the announcement that an elven army was on their way. Thorin went mad, dressing everyone up in the finest armor available and commanding them to stand together on the tower-ledge that overlooked the front gates.

Harry was nervous. If Legolas and Tauriel were at Gundabad, the army must be led by Thranduil. Harry was not sure how his standing with dwarves would appear to any of the elves, but it was Thranduil’s face that he knew he would be watching.

“Let’s go!” Thorin commanded.

“I will not.”

Thorin turned to face him. “What was that?”

“I will not stand with you while you refuse starving people the help they need. I will not stand behind a king who has not proven himself worthy of the title.”

Thorin’s eyes were enraged and he drew his sword, leaping to Harry to skewer him. “Leave, then!” Harry apparated away, just out of sight, and cast a notice-me-not on himself. He followed them to the ledge and looked over it, seeing a thousand elves in perfect formation, led by King Bard on a horse. Thranduil was not there, but in the distance Harry could see the supply carts that the elves had brought with them to the survivors. Harry could not stop the first smile in many days.

He watched as Bard attempted to strike a deal with Thorin, but it was not to be. There was an idle exchange of threats and a certain dishonor that hung around Thorin. Harry could hardly bear to watch it.

“Now what, Thorin?” Bilbo asked. “What is your plan?”

“Dwarves are never counted as being alone. The armies of the Iron Hills have been called upon and will come!”

Harry felt helpless at this news. This was supposed to be a simple quest, but it has turned into a war. Why must this always be how matters are settled? Through bloodshed and death?

“Thorin…”

It was not Harry who had spoken. No, Harry had quite given up on the matter and at this point wanted nothing more than to take Bilbo and leave. But he knew Bilbo would not go. No, hobbits are noble creatures and their dedication makes up for anything else they might lack.

And at this point, Bilbo was speaking.

“Thorin, must we have war? We promised them money; we gave our word. I was there and I did it too and I do not wish to be a liar as well as a thief.”

“Thief?”

Thorin was not listening much until he heard the word. Then his eyes narrowed and he looked Bilbo up and down.

“A-a burglar, you know. You have hired me as one but as we can all see I haven’t done so great a job-”

“Oh, no,” Thorin was advancing on Bilbo threateningly. Harry removed his wand. “I believe you have been a very skillful burglar, isn’t that right? Maybe _too_ skilled.” He went to grab Bilbo by the coat but Harry jumped in front and held out his wand. Thorin pushed his hand away, wand going skidding across the floor, and took Bilbo by his lapels and shook him hard. Bilbo cried out and Harry pulled together his will and commanded his wand back to him. It went flying into his palm.

“Put him down, Thorin!” Harry yelled. Thorin continued to shake without care, yelling obscenities at Bilbo. Harry pulled back his wand and cast an “ _expelliarmus,_ ” causing Thorin to fly back several feet. In doing so, his hand tugged too hard on Bilbo’s coat and from it fell the glittering Arkenstone.

There was complete silence as the three of them stared each other down. Then, with a roar of rage, Thorin unsheathed his sword and ran at Bilbo. Harry jumped again in front of him and deflected the sword from its path. He looked around frantically, trying to find an escape route to lead Bilbo towards. He was not sure if he could side-apparate him under such stressful circumstances and was afraid to try in case of splinching. Thorin attacked again and Harry cast a spell that made the blade burn hot, forcing Thorin to drop the sword to the ground.

But he was still angry. He knocked Harry to the side – superior strength and madness besting even Harry’s height – and pushed Bilbo quickly to the side of the room, where a ledge was waiting over the side of the kingdom.

“Thorin!” Harry screamed. “Think clearly for a moment! You’ll kill him!” He jumped to his feet and ran after them.

“That was the desire,” Thorin said and pushed the hobbit over.

~

A few minutes later and across an expanse of land, three men sat in a tent together.

“Since when has my council counted for so little? What do you think I’m trying to do?!”

Gandalf was waving his arms, looking defeated, and Thranduil answered entirely unimpressed.

“I think you’re trying to save your dwarvish friends. And I admire your loyalty to them, but it does not dissuade me from my course. You started this, Mithrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it.” He exited the tent and called to an elf nearby. “Are the archers in position?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Give the order. If anything moves on that mountain - kill it!”

“Anything, my lord?”

The question made him pause and the implication within it made his eyes narrow.

“You know your orders.”

“I heard the King of Dale say that a wizard was on his way there yesterday, is all I mean.”

Thranduil hovered outside of the tent for a moment before nodding. “If you see a wizard, you allow him go free.” And then he ducked inside. It was impossible for the others not to have heard the discussion, but none made eye contact as he sat down. The conversation resumed a minute later with Gandalf asking if the blood of dwarves was worth a price of gold. Bard responded angrily about how it was not the blood he wanted, but the safety of his people, and it would not be guaranteed without the gold promised.

They were quieter after that and it could not be sure if an agreement could be made because just then a figure came storming in, identity concealed due to the silhouette from the moon but fury evident from his jolted strides.

“Who is there?” Thranduil demanded, standing up. The hood of the figure was thrown off to reveal Harry, drenched head to toe in water and holding a shaking figure against his legs. His poisonous green eyes were narrowed on Gandalf and his mouth seemed ready to spit flames.

“Curse you and all of your foolish plans, oh great wizard. I know very well that hobbits are resilient creatures and loyal to the end, but involving one with _dwarves_ was where you went wrong!”

“Harry…” Gandalf stuttered.

“What do you want?” Bard, grim-faced as always and perceiving a threat, was reaching for a weapon behind his back while neither Gandalf nor Thranduil did the same. Harry flicked his eyes between all three of them and none could resist just the slightest flinch as they made eye contact with the deathly figure.

“Thorin knows we’re here. And you will not, Gandalf, you _will not_ send Bilbo back to them! I want nothing more to do with this _quest_ , and I certainly want nothing to do with _this_!” Harry removed a clothed package from his robes and threw it on the table, the fabric falling back and leaving the glittering Arkenstone to clatter to a stop in front of their widened eyes. “Thorin almost killed Bilbo over it and I have no disillusions that he very well might have, had I not been there to stop it! There is no bargaining with someone with their head deep in dragon’s gold and I shame you for allowing this to happen; nay, for setting this on its path in the first place!”

It was quiet except for the dying crackles of the fire and Harry’s heavy breathing, but emotions were running high and thick.

“I was away for very important business,” Gandalf said at last. “Wasn’t it you who was supposed to stay with them when I could not?”

Harry’s face burned a bright red even compared to the emitted firelight and it was proof of the shame he felt inside him. Because the truth was that he should have been with Bilbo the whole time and not got so caught up in feelings during the stay in Mirkwood. He had let down his friend and it nearly led to destruction, as things with him always did.

“Harry…” they all heard whisper and Harry moved his hand down to the head that rested near his hip. He gave a final watery glare at Gandalf and then steered around them towards the fire. There he pushed the small figure to the ground and began bustling, picking up logs and casting some spells on them and making the fire burn ever warmer.

“Here you are,” he was murmuring, “Nice and warm. We will deal with Thorin; this is no longer your problem. You’ve done your part.”

“Harry, Thorin is a victim here too.”

Harry whipped his head around to stare Gandalf down with those same eyes. “You may speak to me about victims and blame after you’ve watched one of your greatest friends tossed over a wall and down two hundred feet into a _moat_.”

He went back to caring for Bilbo and for fifteen minutes no one spoke, the tension too high and retribution promised for whoever dared to break it. Finally, there was a quiet voice.

“I have to go back.” Harry looked back with wide eyes.

“Bilbo…”

“They’re my friends, Harry. I have to finish this right.”

So Harry walked backwards into a chair and collapsed into it, face hidden behind his hands and back hunched over with weariness and stress. He listened silently as Bilbo explained his plan for Bard to barter the Arkenstone, Bilbo’s chosen fourteenth share, for a fourteenth of the gold and silver and jewels to rebuild the lost city of Dale and keep their people alive.

Bard and Thranduil praised him for his bravery and begged he not go back, but Bilbo was resolute and walked out of the tent without any more ado. It was silent when he was gone.

“Fawkes,” Harry croaked. The phoenix flashed in, still small but now brilliantly colored for the others to see. “Follow him. If he is in danger flash him to me, _please_.” The phoenix snug against Harry’s ear and hair and then flew quietly out of the flap after Bilbo.

They were quiet some more but the tension was not there. The three other figures watched Harry, bent in on himself and shoulders racking with distress, and did not know what to say to such a broken figure. Thranduil, who had never seen this side of Harry, was faced suddenly with a situation he did not know correctly how to handle; Bard, who had only known Harry as a powerful wizard in charge, did not understand how he had become so lost and so drastically and so soon.

But Gandalf had known Harry for far longer than either of them, so he stood and approached the figure and then sat by him.

“Harry, _mellon-nîn_ , you are blaming yourself again.”

“It is hard not to blame yourself for something when it is actually your fault.” His voice was feeble but the words were piercing.

“What have you done to make this your doing?”

“I was not there. I allowed myself to be distracted and in doing so I forgot my promise, and for it he was almost killed. I got here too late, I couldn’t stop them from waking the dragon, people were killed by Orcs and buildings by dragonfire – just name something Gandalf, and I’m sure I took part in the destruction of that as well!” He looked up, saltwater tears turning his irises a lighter green than usual and cheeks wet from the tears he tried to wipe away. “And now a war is brewing and I have no way to stop it either. What is my purpose if I cannot help those that need me?”

“There will be no war,” Bard reassures. “They do not have any numbers. They will have to admit defeat.”

That reminds Harry of the fact that they do not know of the dwarf army on its way and he drops his head into his hands once more.

“The armies of Dáin Ironfoot are headed this way and they will fight.” There were murmurs from Bard. “There is always death! Always destruction.”

“You were a warrior once, Harry,” Gandalf reminded gently.

“A warrior for what? I was a child soldier fighting a dark lord who wanted my head; that is hardly a similar situation! My friends died in that war.” Harry looked up, towards the fire. He stared into it and the light brushed his face, making the scrubbed tears gleam. “I don’t want to fight. I want to heal, to defend. I want to know that I am making the world better, not dirtying it further with blood.”

Gandalf looked at him knowingly. “So what will you do?”

Harry stood. His face had become resolute and his eyes were focused on the door-flap. “Everything I can.”

He grabbed his trusty bag from where it had fallen off his shoulder and put it back up there. His wand was used to cast a drying spell on himself, something he had forgotten to do with Bilbo’s safety his main concern, and strolled to the door. As he passed Thranduil he discretely dropped a wrapped package on the arm of his chair. He then disappeared through the flap and into the night.

What he was doing was helping any way he knew how. He went around to the sick and injured and healed them with a few spells. He distributed food when there weren’t enough hands to do so. He cast warming spells on the children, melting spells on the snow, and set up wards around the village and the mountain to know if anything would happen. Bilbo was flashed to him at some point during the night and neither of them spoke about it. Fawkes went away to track the armies of Dáin and Harry finally got some light sleep.

The next day began with another offer of compromise, but Thorin was furious that the Arkenstone, something he believed was rightfully his, was being used as a bartering piece.

“Will you have peace or war?” Bard asked as a raven flew down to Thorin. He looked at it closely.

“I will have war!”

And then came the dreaded company of Dáin and Harry watched it all from a distance. The dwarves gloated at the new development but the elves had been forewarned of the attack. They turned to face the army and then there was a great standoff. The men stood with the elves.

Harry took a deep breath. Bilbo was with Gandalf, hiding under a notice-me-not. “Everything I can,” he repeated to himself, and then apparated.

Harry reappeared between the two armies. In his hair was a pink flower, carefully saved with a preservation charm. On his body was his dragonhide underarmor and dwarvish chainmail that protected his neck and chest. No one moved.

“Couldn’t we give this a little bit of thought?”

“Elf-scum!” Dáin spit and threw more insults his way. The elves looked between Harry and their king. Thorin’s company that had originally been cheering was now quiet and worried. Bard was calculating. If these two armies were just ready to kill each other, one person should not have changed the situation.

“Not quite. Please, is this really what we want? What will this get us in the end?”

“Less elves, we hope!” And the dwarf army cheered.

In the seconds of that commotion, Fawkes appeared in his brilliant red and gold and swooped down. The armies were amazed. The elves had not seen the final look of Fawkes and the dwarves had never seen a phoenix at all.

Fawkes landed on Harry’s arm and Harry stared into his eyes. From them he got images of another army, this one of Orcs, and it was coming their way.

He stared for a moment into nothingness as everyone watched on. Finally, he moved. He lifted Fawkes into the air and with a swift moment withdrew his wand. “Orcs approach from the east!” He yelled. “At least five-thousand! We will have no chance unless we unite!”

“We will not leave this tower-” Thorin tried.

“FORGET THE GOLD!” Harry yelled, decidedly done with everyone’s shit. “What good is gold when you’re dead?! What is gold compared to life, to trust, to _love?!_ You stand there and you await your own end when you could fight now and _live_.” Harry looked around, saw Gandalf, and made eye contact with Thranduil. He had been avoiding it – and so well, too – but he could no longer. Harry knew it would come down to him. He had led his elves away once because he thought it a dying battle and Harry knew that if he thought so again, Harry could not fault him. But _Harry_ would go into this fight and he would win.

The Orcs made their approach, with beasts Harry had never seen before, and he felt his hope dying as their survival chances did as well.

“We do not fight for gold or riches,” Thranduil then said, maintaining the eye contact. “We fight for freedom and peace.” And he yelled a command and the elves started running, men close behind.

The dwarves of the Iron Hills went too and so the three armies united against a common foe. Harry fought with them, slicing down Orcs and keeping his eyes open to protect those around him. He was never fully with one army as the three combined in the middle of the battlefield so he was defending all three races as best he could. He yelled Latin spells and Sindarin ones and had the idle thought of trying Quenya later. He saw Thranduil’s brilliant hair and caught a gaze of him atop his elk, fighting with a longsword. He was beautiful.

They were doing well, defeating the armies and pushing the enemy back, when word came that a second Orc front was coming through the city.

“All of you: fall back to Dale! Now!” The Men went with Bard, defending the land and trying to prevent any ground from being gained, but it would not be enough. By the orders of and led by Thranduil, some of the elves turned and fought their way out of the battle, going to Dale to help the Men. Harry stayed in the middle of the field, taking out as many Orcs as he could. But it was too difficult and he was unable to cast large spells when surrounded by allies, so he called for Fawkes. The phoenix came flying over. He had been making diving attacks until the Orc archers began aiming to him.

“Could you give me a lift?” Harry asked and raised his left hand. Fawkes swooped down and Harry took a hold of his tail feathers and up they went. Harry went further north until he was above a full group of Orcs and then he dropped down, landing in the middle of them. “ _Dagor caim_!” He spread his arms out like he had over a week before and then spun in a circle. The wind built up again and pushed them back but this time when the lightning struck his spin caused it to hit every Orc around him. They were knocked down – either unconscious or dead – and Harry lifted his hand for Fawkes to take him to another group.

He was causing some confusion for the Orcs, he saw with satisfaction. They did not know whether to fight the dwarves or turn around and aim for him. The ground that the combined armies had begun losing when the men and elves left was steadily being regained.

They fought for a long time more but the numbers didn’t seem to get much thinner. Harry wondered how the battle in the city was going but could not leave to find out. With an unexpected sound of horns blowing, thirteen dwarves crashed through a wall of stone and ran out of the Lonely Mountain.

“To the king!” Dáin was yelling, “To the king!”

“ _Du Bekâr_!” Thorin and the dwarves pushed through and the dwarves began fighting again with renewed vigor. Harry was relieved to see a sanity to Thorin’s eyes that had not been there in too long.

Harry got lost in the fighting for some time longer but his muscles were getting weary. He did not have the same stamina as he used to. His magical reserves were gone and he stuck to Sindarin spells now, utilizing the magic in the air that he lived and breathed. A fearful cry had him looking up, north to Ravenhill, and finding a smaller battle had broken out there between Thorin and Dwalin and some goblins. Harry gave a final push with his magic, leaving a pathway clear for him, and began running.

He was far behind them but when he saw the Orc armies begin to gather he knew he had to make it. Apparition was done by calling on his reserves, but Harry used his will to have the magic around him take him there, and with surprise he found his body moving at a breakneck speed and height and then he was stumbling on the ground at Ravenhill. Azog stood a few feet from him with a bloodied Fíli in his grasp. He raised his arm for the final blow.

“ _Thand_!” Harry yelled and whipped his wand forward. A shield took form and sped across the clearing, getting between the sharp blade and Fíli’s chest just in time. The force also knocked Azog away and he dropped Fíli with a grunt. Fawkes flew by and flamed the dwarf away.

Kíli came running up the stairs when he didn’t see a body fall but in doing so he was running to his death. Azog turned around when Kíli burst through the doorway and stabbed him through with a sword.

Harry cried out in alarm and grief and he heard an echoing cry a few feet away. Tauriel and Legolas had come just in time to see Kíli killed. “Kíli…” Tauriel whispered. Azog made an escape during their shock.

There was a hole straight through Kíli’s chest. It wasn’t wide but it was obviously going to kill him. Harry dropped to his knees and tried frantically to think of something. This was one of the youngest. It wasn’t right for him to die.

Harry was looking around desperately, eyes flickering everywhere. “Heal!” He shrieked, and would have appeared mad if anyone but Tauriel and Legolas was there to see. He whipped his head around to stare at her and she was frightened to see the fevered look in his eyes. “Quickly! What is the Sindarin word for heal!?”

“Harry…?”

“ _Quickly!_ ”

“ _Nestad_.”

Harry whipped around to Kíli and began waving his wand at once. His brown eyes were unfocused and raw but his chest still rose with humble breath. “ _Nestad,_ ” he commanded, “ _Nestad, nestad, nestad_.” His words turned to a plea and his gaze was clouded by tears.

“What is he doing?” asked Tauriel, hardly daring to hope with a wound that size.

“Saving him,” said a deeper voice. Thranduil had followed Legolas when he ran and was now watching the scene intently.

And Harry was. As he repeated the elven word, the skin began to regrow and reattach and the wound shrank ever smaller. Truthfully, when saving a dwarf the proper language to use would likely be Khuzdul, but Harry thought later that with Tauriel so nearby and her love being overwhelming, the elvish word worked fine.

Kíli took a deep gasp as Harry finished healing his lungs and was then only healing skin. The worst damage had been taken care of.

Tauriel leapt at Harry, thanking him, and then fell on Kíli’s body. Harry had done enough that he would survive if he went to the healing tents, but for now he stood. His legs were shaking.

“Take me to your wounded,” Harry told Legolas. It probably wasn’t right to command a prince, but even a few seconds could be the difference between life and death. “I can heal them; please, take me to where I can heal them.”

“You need to rest,” Thranduil spoke up.

“I’m fine. Where are the healing tents?”

A yell of anger broke everyone’s concentration and they looked over to see Thorin fighting Azog alone.

“Thorin!” Harry yelled, “Retreat! Your nephews both live!” But then they saw the second army arrive. These numbers were too great.

The group of them – Harry, Tauriel, Legolas, Thranduil, and a number of elven soldiers – went down to fight. Harry did not know how long they lasted. When Azog fought with Thorin, Thranduil ignored the dwarf’s claims of avenging his family and sliced his head off with his longsword. That certainly did not help dwarf-elf relations.

They fought a dying battle. There were another few thousand Orcs there and a dozen soldiers would not be able to kill them. More warriors ran in from the dwarf and elf armies but they would still lose.

And then the eagles arrived.

They flew down like saviors sent by the Valar themselves and picked off whole groups of Orcs at a time. One dropped down Beorn, who transformed into a bear and could kill numerous Orcs without their weapons doing any damage. Harry left the battle at Ravenhill and went down to the city of Dale and defended it from the final Orcs. Most on the battlefield were killed and the ones that fled were chased down by Beorn and some of the elves. Harry killed the ones he came across and kept them away from the camp and then made it to the healing tent. Someone had moved Kíli inside and Harry was certain Fawkes was involved.

Harry healed everyone he could. It became harder to lift his wand and his head was swimming but he still moved between the beds, whispering _“nestad”_ as he went. He went to every single person he found and tried his hardest.

“You did good, Harry,” he mumbled to himself. “You saved them. That’s good.” He swayed on his feet and then collapsed in a pile on the floor.

XX.

Harry awoke many days later.

He had used up all of his magic early in the battle and had been going on sheer force of will by the end of it. It might have been fine then, but when he collapsed it was into a healing coma that he didn’t awaken from until his core was refilled once more.

When he did wake up though, he was not alone. Bilbo sat at his side and Gandalf was not much further from him. Harry’s head was pounding, his mouth was dry, and he could have eaten just about anything, as long as it filled the hole in his stomach.

He did not want to wake Bilbo or Gandalf, as they both looked far too tired to be conscious, so he struggled not to make a sound as he sat up. He had bandages wrapped all around his body and he didn’t know why.

“You were very hurt.”

Harry whipped his head to his other side so fast it spun. He hadn’t even noticed Thranduil was there.

“I cannot imagine how you managed to keep going with that much blood leaking out of you. You should not have lived at all.” The words were uncaring but Thranduil’s voice was quiet and soft.

“Heh, that’s me. Defying the odds, I guess.” Harry bent forward to stretch his back but Thranduil rested his hand on Harry’s knee.

“You shouldn’t do that.” He was worried. “You’ll reopen them.”

Cautiously, Harry leaned back on his bed. Were they going to talk now?

But no, it wasn’t to be. Bilbo woke up then and started at seeing Harry awake. He jumped onto the bed and gave Harry a big hug and began to blubber.

“What are you crying about?” Harry asked in surprise.

“You almost _died_!”

“Really, Bilbo, do you really think I would go that easily?”

“It wasn’t ‘that easy,’” Thranduil said, some anger leaking through. “You had sword and arrow wounds all over your body. You had water-burn marks, never treated. Your magic was completely depleted. You used all of your energy saving everyone else and left none for yourself. You were very nearly on the doorstep of Mandos’ Hall and would not be here with us if not for your phoenix.”

“We were worried sick,” Bilbo confessed. “No one had the means to save you, though you had saved everyone else.”

“But dearest Fawkes has another ability that you never told us about, isn’t that right?” And that was Gandalf, who was apparently never asleep at all, looking at Harry with a humorous twinkle in his eye. “Who knew that phoenixes had healing tears?”

“Please don’t spread that around,” Harry begged, looking back and forth. “Others might try to capture him if they think he’s an endless well of cures.”

“The point is that he saved your life.”

Harry sighed and looked at his lap. “Yeah, he does that sometimes. Where is he now?”

“Sleeping, I think.”

“Then I’ll leave him to it and thank him later. He certainly deserves his rest more than anyone else – I used him too much during the battle. He was still too young to be doing all of that flashing.”

The conversation turned to the results of the war and Harry was glad to hear that all of the thirteen dwarves survived.

“And Thorin?”

“He’s better now. He’s learned the error of gold-sickness and has done really well not to let it get to his head. He upheld his end of the Arkenstone deal and gave my share of the treasure to Lord Bard and they’ll rebuild Dale in the spring.” They talked for only a while longer until Gandalf excused him and Bilbo to discuss travelling plans and left Harry and Thranduil alone. Harry looked around. The beds near his were all empty and there were no medics in the tent.

“Speaking of treasure,” Thranduil began. He moved his chair closer to Harry’s bed. “You got for me the White Gems. Why did you do that?”

Harry was looking at his hands. “You spoke of them with such sadness and regret. You would have killed Thorin over it; I knew that. I do not fault you for that. You have nothing left of your wife and the thought of her still holds an unfilled cavity in your chest and I had hoped that this would help, even if only a little.”

They were silent. Harry kept staring at his hands. He couldn’t imagine what Thranduil’s face looked like, or if Harry had crossed a line. There was so much not being said here and it made him anxious. Did Thranduil hate him? Did he believe him a traitor for going with the dwarves and saving them all while Harry could not save all of the elves? What about Harry’s final statement? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

From his eyes being stuck on his hands, Harry could see Thranduil extend his own and wrap them around Harry’s. It was impossible not to again notice the differences between them. Thranduil’s hands were soft and pale and his fingers were nimble while Harry’s were a dark tan and had a bunch of scrapes. But they both were calloused from fighting and fit together so well.

“I do not think you realize your own worth,” Thranduil said quietly, “and it is a shame. You have done nothing but sacrifice for everyone here despite our inability to back down. I told you before that elves have a flaw in resisting change and I have fallen victim to it again. I am sorry for the devastation that it has clearly brought you.”

“I will make it through this,” Harry shrugged. “I always do.”

“Even so, I must thank you. You saved my elves. Many more of us would have been lost if not for you.”

“What happened to Tauriel?” Harry interrupted. “I heard she was banished for loving a dwarf.”

This was a challenge and Thranduil knew it.

“We have since spoken. We are at an understanding and she is welcomed back if she chooses, though I would not be surprised if she stayed a while in Dale.”

“And Legolas?”

At this Thranduil was quiet.

“He loved Tauriel,” he whispered. “He has gone to find the Dúnedain at my suggestion. We will see him again.”

Harry sighed. Even though everyone survived, there was still a mess of things. Thranduil’s hands squeezed tighter around his own and Harry finally looked up.

Thranduil looked heart-broken. He was no longer looking at Harry but instead was focused on something farther away than either of them could see.

“You know,” Harry said unsurely, “Fawkes has a lot of free time, and he has taken quite a liking to you. It is very easy for him to flash between people holding letters and it is a great deal quicker than using a messenger. Safer, too.”

Thranduil looked at him. He looked at him so seriously, so intently, that Harry was struck speechless. Even if he had more words, though he did not, there was no way he could get them out with the force behind that gaze.

“You are doing it again.” Harry wanted to ask: _doing what?_ “You are helping someone again, someone who does not deserve your help.” No, no; that wasn’t right.

“You will have to forgive me, my lord, if I disagree with you.” Harry took a deep breath. “There has been no one on all of Middle-Earth who has done quite as much for me as you have. And I do not speak of clothing, or of hospitality; I speak of the fact that I have been around and seen many sights, but none have struck me as greatly as the image of your halls in the starlight, with you at the center of them. I have considered Imladris my home for many years but never has it given me the feeling that I received when dancing between you and your elves during an end-autumn festival. I could learn all I wished from the libraries in Gondor, and in Rohan, but being with you has taught me more about the world and about myself and has given me a greater knowledge than I could have ever desired.”

“And what is that?” Thranduil asked. His body was rising from his chair and Harry’s hands were being pressed almost as tightly as he was squeezing them himself.

“I dare say I have already confessed it, and you already know.”

And then Thranduil was kissing him. He was bent over Harry, nothing touching except for their lips and their hands, and Harry was helpless to do anything but kiss back. Harry felt tears gather but he did not allow them to fall, instead pressing harder against Thranduil and tilting his head just so.

Thranduil moved his hands at last, keeping one around Harry’s to link their fingers and moving the other to Harry’s neck, which he used to pull Harry up more and deepen the kiss.

They were like this for a while; it was a miracle that no one had walked in on them by the time they drew apart with breathless laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, looking deep into Thranduil’s eyes, “I left. After everything you did for me, I still went with the dwarves when the time came.”

“Let’s not speak of it now,” Thranduil said in response, kissing him again but shorter this time. “I made my own mistakes and I am not proud of them, but let’s talk about it after you’ve gotten some rest.”

“Probably best,” Harry agreed and leaned back onto the bed. His stomach pain reminded him of the most immediate concern, however. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where a wizard could get some food around here, would you?”

They did have the talk later, after Harry had met with and been thanked by all three of the other leaders (Thorin, Dáin, and Bard) for saving so many of their people. He spoke with Tauriel, and with Kíli and Fíli, and he had a nice, long talk with Gandalf concerning everything that had been yelled in times of high stress. Then they had their talk.

And it all turned out better than Harry had hoped for. When it came to be time for Bilbo to return home, a smaller company set out with him. Gandalf, Bilbo, Beorn, Harry, and Thranduil walked together, with Fawkes high above them. There were also some Wood-elves, though all of them came back at different times, whenever they believed they were ready by the permission of their King.

They walked the three day journey back along the Running River with Bilbo singing songs for them and the elves playing music on their pipes and flutes. Gandalf told tales of old and Harry told tales of young, back when he was a mischievous kid roaming the halls of an enchanted castle. Fawkes trilled his happy tunes that made everyone shine with hope and Beorn travelled as both man and bear, attracting the wildlife that came across their path to witness the passing of a happy group symbolizing the start of something new. Through it all Thranduil had a steady smile on his face, and it wasn’t faked for even a moment.

They made it to Mirkwood eventually, where the elves danced through the trees and to their homes, high in the branches. Thranduil welcomed them to stay for a few days but Bilbo would only stay for one, eager to get home now that his adventure was over. Harry slept in his room that night and felt something solidify within him.

The next morning, Gandalf, Beorn, and Bilbo were ready to begin their travels when Harry approached them.

“All ready to go, my friend?” Gandalf asked jovially, but Harry shook his head.

“If it is alright with you, My Lord,” Harry bowed to Thranduil, “I would like to stay a little longer in Mirkwood.”

“Stay willingly!” Gandalf laughed, astonished, remembering the Harry that once upon a time would go nowhere near the cursed forest.

“Yes, I-” Harry smiled, a small little thing, “I think the fear that I felt was the base intuition that there was something waiting for me here. I have wandered for so long that it is a part of who I am. I think my magic knew that it was in the Greenwood that I would find a home, even more than Imladris ever was.” Harry shared a smile with Thranduil, who looked so pleased that Harry couldn’t find it in him to regret not seeing Bilbo home. “It will keep me grounded for a time, and I was afraid of that. But worry not, Gandalf,” Harry looked up with a glint in his eye and a teasing smile upon his lips, “for I fear I will be seeing you much sooner than I wish.”

Gandalf laughed and laughed and Harry said his goodbyes. He promised Bilbo he would visit again soon and then the group was gone, and Harry and Thranduil were left to begin their new lives together.

“Things are different now, aren’t they?” Harry asked that night when they looked up at the stars together.

“Yes, but they’re good. Change can be good.”

“Even for an elf?” Harry teased.

“Especially for an elf, when he’s got a wizard by his side.”

They exchanged a secret sort of smile and then looked back at the stars, content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to state here that Harry is an oblivious idiot and the gifts that Thranduil was giving him were courting gifts and he had nothing to worry about <3


End file.
